


A Little Push in the Right Direction

by notjustmom



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mild Language, Princess Bride mention, Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper Friendship, Sherlock is a Monty Python geek, Spam spam spam, Swan serviettes, Waiting, Weddings, author admits crazy timeline, author should not try maths at 2am, certain amount of crack, cheese shop sketch, did i mention kissing?, go with it anyway, lots of waiting, silly walks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-04-14 04:30:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 42
Words: 21,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4550520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Non-canon love story of Molly and Greg; how a consulting detective and his blogger help them get together.</p><p>** I do not own any of these lovely characters, just borrowing them from Moffat, Gatiss and ACD.**</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Molly & Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Consulting Detective and his Blogger take on their toughest case ever, how to get a certain DI and Pathologist together.

Molly

Molly Hooper loved her job, usually. She was young for her position, but eventually she had earned the respect of everyone at St. Bart's, even Sherlock had to admit she wasn't an idiot, usually.

But, today, even Sherlock threw up his hands, and grouched, "Molly Hooper! What does Lestrade have to do? Propose marriage? Adopt your cats? He has asked you to the pub every Friday night for over 8 years! It's like a bad Monty Python skit! You always come up with some pathetic excuse not to go out with him. Why? He's been divorced for how many years, no kids, he is reasonably attractive, well-endowed from what I can deduce. What is your problem?"

"Uhmmmmm....well..." she mumbled.

"Oh, never mind! Just text me when those results come in, Molly. I need to go pick up some milk before John wakes up to find we are out again." And with a flounce, the black coat vanished through the door.

Molly wished she was braver, when it came to relationships. Even Sherlock, her best friend, the self-proclaimed sociopath, had deduced after six months of sharing a flat with John, that they were perfect for each other. In Sherlock fashion, he promptly set out to woo and win John's heart, case by case, take away by take away, until John gave up his 'NOT GAY' stance, finally realizing he and Sherlock 'completed' each other. Not that he would ever say such sappy mumbo-jumbo to Sherlock, but their partnership made sense, their broken pieces healed by the other. Now, Sherlock bought milk and ate three meals a day, while John gave up working at the clinic, spending his time blogging and making copious amounts of tea for his love.

She sighed, finishing up the last case of her shift, throwing her lab coat in the laundry bag, she turned out the lights, and made her way home to her cats and leftover curry. She wished a certain silver-maned DI was at home waiting for her, instead.

Greg

Lestrade was waiting for John to show up for their weekly darts night, one night a week when Sherlock needed space to make malodorous concoctions, or disappear into his mind palace to delete whatever excess nonsense was clogging the works. At this point in their relationship, new as it was, John was too distracting for Sherlock to withstand. A single glance would push him over the edge, and John would find himself with a lap full of horny detective, usually culminating in a few hours of athletic and surprisingly creative lovemaking.

Lestrade peered into his half-finished pint, as if the mysteries of the universe would be solved if only he looked long enough. 

"Greg!" John bellowed, "Hellllllo??? Anyone in there?"

"John, didn't hear you come in, sorry, mate, just thinking," Greg grinned sheepishly.

"Really? No, it's ok, Greg. Sherlock told me Molly turned you down again, sorry."

"Yeah, not sure why I keep at it, John. I see you and Sherlock together, you two make it seem so easy, and she won't even have a drink with me. Is it me? Am I that unlovable? I don't know anymore," he sighed into the glass, draining the rest and calling for another.

"Easy??? Sherlock, easy? You are kidding, right? Keep trying, Greg, you are wearing her down, trust me."


	2. When Molly Met Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock recalls how he and Molly met and became best friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my canon, Sherlock and Molly have known each other for about eight years before he meets John, so they meet around 2002. I see Molly as a bit older, not by much, they probably are in their mid 20s at their first meeting. Sherlock and Molly probably waited for 20 hours in line to get to see Hamlet on that first night. :) They still hang out a lot even with his newish relationship with John.
> 
> I am a huge, huge fan of Mr. Cumberbatch, I tease because I love. :) And I did go to see "Penguins of Madagascar" mostly to see if he could say it. He couldn't. 
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to a friend who got me started reading fan fiction during this purgatory, aka 'the hiatus'.

Sherlock left the morgue pondering why he blew up at Molly. She was his best friend, long before he had encountered the whirlwind trapped in comfy jumpers that was John Watson, Molly was the one who understood him better than anyone. Not that many were interested in trying in the first place, but she honestly liked and trusted him as a person, which had scared him at first. 

They had met after Lestrade found him in the drug den years ago, high out of his mind, but had deduced Lestrade down to the secret tattoo that he had never told anyone about. So, instead of calling Mycroft, Greg took him in, helped him through those awful weeks of withdrawal, and promised that if he stayed clean, he could help out with cases. Finally, after Sherlock had been clean for a couple of months, the DI took him to St. Bart's to show him the latest victim of what Greg considered to be the work of a serial killer, or maybe a couple working together. He wasn't sure and needed Sherlock's opinion.

"Hey, Molly, how are things?" Greg smiled at a petite, auburn haired, cat-loving introvert who glanced up as she heard Greg walk in.

"Hey, Greg, uhm...fine, did you want to look at the latest case again?" She peered nervously around Greg and spotted Sherlock slouched in his coat and scarf, even though it was a warm spring afternoon, he still felt the cold more than most, and the temperature in the morgue was downright frigid.

"Oh, yeah, Molly Hooper, this is Sherlock, he's gonna help me on this one, fresh eyes and all."

"Sure, ok. Hi, Sherlock, nice to uhm, meet you, would you like some coffee?"

He had been unsure how to respond to her, he didn't shake hands as a rule, and people rarely offered him coffee. 

"Black with three sugars, thanks?"

"You're like me, a little coffee with our sugar, right?" A grin brightened her face and her brown eyes glowed for a moment, before shuttering again, as if she suddenly remembered where they were; in a morgue, not the coffee shop down the street.

"Back in a tick, she is in the bag on the table, I was just about finished with the paperwork," as she quietly skedaddled from the room, almost tripping on the hem of her trousers that had come undone on the way to the tube this morning, or at least that's what he deduced had caused her to almost tumble into his arms.

"Well, Sherlock, you've managed to unnerve the steeliest gal I've ever met, " chuckled Lestrade.

"Wha- what are you talking about, Lestrade?" He honestly had no clue to what he was on about, she just offered him coffee and almost tripped as she left the room, she just happened to almost knock him do-.  
Oh, no. Not again. He had no interest in women at all, he had known he was gay since puberty, even though he hadn't acted on it as yet. At Cambridge, there had been opportunities, but no one stayed around long enough to try to get to know him, and to tell the truth, most people bored him.

Damn. Here he was, about to get to see his first murder(?) victim, and the pathologist was crushing on him. Damn, damn, damnnnnnn.

At that moment, Molly popped back in with a tray of coffees and a packet of biscuits, his favourite chocolate ones that mum still had at home for his rare visits back there.

"Here, Sherlock, hope it's sweet enough for you, " she grinned again, handing him a cup, then getting down to business. 

Unzipping the bag, she showed Lestrade and Sherlock the pattern of knife wounds that she had noted on previous cases, going back a couple of years, now. But she felt something was wrong, couldn't really put a finger on what was bothering her, but something didn't feel right. 

Sherlock had seen the morgue photos of the other victims, so understood what she was feeling, everything about this latest victim felt like it fit, but...

"This one is left handed!" They exclaimed in one voice, as their eyes met across the table, almost jostling coffee everywhere. He actually laughed with her, he hadn't truly laughed in years, and he found it was hard to stop.

"Sorry," he said, trying to recover his composure and failing badly.

"Why are you sorry, Sherlock?" Molly asked, her eyes still dancing, looking deeply into his bluegreengreyish ones, and he blinked away.

"I'm laughing in a morgue over a murder victim," he muttered, "My brother would consider that 'a bit not good.'

Molly laughed again, "I don't think she is going to tell anyone about your breach of etiquette, especially not your brother."

They looked at each other, and almost fell over they laughed so hard.

Lestrade cleared his throat, "Uhm, right, how can you tell he's left handed?" Trying to get the two of them back on track so he could close this case that had been unsolved for way too long.

"It's the angle of the wounds, it's improbable that the killer is right-handed. The morgue photos of the earlier victims indicate a right-handed murderer. Different killer, same MO, everything is the same, except he's left-handed. Don't you have a suspect who has an alibi for this one, but not the others?"

"Yep!" replied Lestrade.

"Check to see if he has a twin."

Turns out the suspect had a twin, a twin sister. He always missed something, there was always something. 

From that day on, he and Molly were inseparable. They discussed cases over large amounts of overly sweetened coffee. She saved him the best specimens to work on, especially when he needed something to stop himself from revisiting his old life; she could tell by the way he walked into her morgue. She sobbed on his shoulder when yet another moron dumped her; he would cheer her up by deducing her last three boyfriends in an outrageously terrible french accent, though he was fluent and spoke the language beautifully when forced to. He could sprawl on her couch for hours with his feet in her lap, as he organised his Mind Palace, while she watched Dr. Who and reruns of Star Trek (the original series). They would go to movies, even though he talked at the screen from the previews through to the final credits. She would roll her eyes, but her eyes filled with tears of laughter as he criticised that one actor for not pronouncing the word 'penguin' correctly. 

"It's a good thing penguins don't appear in Hamlet," he had snickered as they were kicked out of yet another theater for talking too much.

 

Sherlock knew how fond Lestrade was of Molly, and he knew Molly had been in love with Lestrade for years. Even he couldn't deduce why Molly was so afraid to consider a relationship with Greg. It was beyond frustrating to see someone he loved more than any blood relative, not take a chance to be happy. She always talked about how much she wanted two or three kids, and as much as he loved spending time with her, he knew she needed something more than what he was capable of giving her, and he trusted Lestrade with his life. He had given him one last chance when no one ever had before, and he was determined to repay him by making his best friend admit her feelings once and for all.

In his ponderings, he almost forgot to get milk and jam. So, he ran back to Tesco, grabbed some milk and two jars of strawberry jam, as there was an experiment he wanted to try later tonight with the jam and hailed a cab.


	3. a little Johnlock, just because...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John returns to the flat after one too many pints, and too many hours of listening to Lestrade's drunken histrionics over Molly.

"Honey....I'm home," the telly shrieked. Sherlock had fallen asleep on the couch again, wrapped in his blue silk robe, threadbare after all these years, but he wouldn't give it up.

John tiptoed towards the telly, tripping over a stack of books, and falling on top of his suddenly alert partner, "Whaaaa? John! What time is it?"

"Way too early or way too late, take your pick," John mumbled. "I swear, if we don't do something about Lestrade and Molly, I'm going to lose my mind!" He scooted off of his lover, who promptly sprawled his full height on top of his blogger, and nibbled an unprotected earlobe, until John moaned softly, "Bed, now, please, sweetie?"

Once in bed, Sherlock took his time undressing John. It had taken years for them to get here, this place where they both knew what they wanted and needed from each other. Shoes, socks, trousers, were quickly tossed in a pile, and Sherlock was pleased that under the green jumper, he found a button down shirt, which meant he could torture his love; slowly, button by button, he eased John out of his shirt and vest, leaving only his pants. John was already begging to be touched, needing Sherlock's lips somewhere, anywhere, he didn't care where. 

Sherlock pushed John's arms above his head, sitting back to examine the gorgeous man that he had turned into a boneless, begging mess, simply by undressing him. Blond hair, slowly turning silver at the edges; deep blue eyes that turned icy when angered, those lips that could break him down with one well placed kiss on that place behind his right knee, and the almost comical nose that the editorial cartoonists thanked the gods for; this was the man that turned his Mind Palace into a disaster area. 

"Sher- please, please, love, I need-"

"What, Honeybunch, what do you need? Tell me, tell me what you want," the detective purred. He had given up trying to deduce what turned John on, as he was full of surprises. Each time was an investigation, a mystery for Sherlock to solve, bit by glorious bit.

"Your gorgeous, amazing lips, I need your lips, anywhere, everywhere, now!" John panted, trying to reach his love. Sherlock was only to happy to oblige; kissing John's eyelids, working down his strong jawline, past the dimples that melted Sherlock's heart every time he made his blogger grin.

He had discovered that John had extremely sensitive nipples the first time they had made love; when Sherlock touched his tongue to one, John had almost fallen off the bed in shock, "Sherlock!!!" he had screeched.

Now, he scooted down, licking and kissing down to the already hardened nubs, and took one between his lips, rolling his gifted tongue around it, as John muffled his screams, so he wouldn't cause Mrs. Hudson to raise their rent. "Hold on, my sweet," Sherlock hummed, "just hold on for me."

He took mercy on his partner, sliding down, finding that sweet spot where he could smell all the different scents that made up his love: tea, a hint of butterscotch(?), a lingering dash of lemongrass, from all that Thai food they inhaled between cases, and that particular musky, maleness that meant he was home at last.  
In one move, Sherlock took him down to the root, feeling the shock ripple through both their bodies, as John came harder than he ever had in his life.

When John came to, Sherlock had wrapped both of them in the duvet and was drawing circles on his scarred shoulder; the one no one else ever caught a glimpse of. For John, it was a symbol of his failures, a life planned out that never took hold, the missed opportunities lost forever. For his lover, it was endlessly fascinating; he had written haiku, odes and sonnets in praise of the mangled and discoloured skin, in gratitude for bringing this gentle, thoughtful and dangerous man crashing into his life.

"Christ, Sher-"  
"John? Please, let me? I've waited so long to be able to touch you whenever, wherever I want to. Please, trust me."  
John surrendered to his sweet madman, falling deeper into the pillows, closing his eyes, as he felt Sherlock make love to every inch of the wound that almost ended his life.

Hours later, as the mid-morning light flooded their bedroom, John rolled over to find his flatmate still asleep, his ridiculous hair splayed in every direction, as if caught in a tornado. His perfect lips were gently parted, as if asking permission for something. He bent down, pressing a kiss to that generous mouth, making his love open one slightly confused eye, then remembering where he was, and who was peering down at him; he smiled, reaching up to capture John's face in his hands. John swore Sherlock was trying to memorize his face this morning, as if he needed to have an image to file away in his vast Mind Palace.

"Tea, my love?"  
"In a minute, John, please, just a few more minutes?"  
"Of course."  
They wrapped themselves in each other's arms and legs, becoming a giant lump of entangled limbs, each one not wanting to move for fear of losing the stillness and peace they found in the other.  
"What are we going to do about Molly and Lestrade? I can't take it anymore, John. They are both so miserable without each other."  
"I know, but what can we do? They are both grown ups, there must be something we don't understand, why they are so afraid to let go and trust each other."  
"Hmmmmmph! Well, I have to meet with Lestrade to fill out some paperwork, then I'm taking Molly to lunch. I kind of blew up at her yesterday and I need to make it up to her somehow..."  
"Join me in the shower? Wink, wink, nudge, nudge?"

It always made John laugh, Sherlock deleted much of the cultural knowledge that most people carried around in their heads, but had the best soundtrack of Monty Python on a constant loop. You never knew when he would become the Spanish Inquisition, or he would run into the nearest cheese shop, reciting the skit word for word to the amusement of the counterperson, usually taking home a few pounds of something that became part of one of his ludicrous experiments. 

"Yes, my love, be there in a minute."


	4. Matchmaker, matchmaker?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a wee bit angsty....

At the Yard:

"Yes, Sherlock. What brings you to my office so bright and early?" asked Lestrade, without even glancing up to look at the detective.

"You asked, nay, demanded that I come in to sign some paperwork?" Sherlock snarked, slightly annoyed that he left a warm blogger in bed to be grumped at by Lestrade.

Lestrade rubbed his face, "Sorry, forgot, Sherlock, just a late night last night."  
"Yes, I am aware of the lateness of the hour when my partner returned home," Sherlock glared at Lestrade until the DI looked up. 

"Gavin, what the hell? You look like crap!" Sherlock stalked over to look his friend and mentor in the face.

"Enough! I am having Molly over to the flat on Friday night, and you will also be there with a good bottle of wine, on your best behaviour, shaved and in a tie. NOT looking like something that was run over by a lorry, got it, Lestrade?"

Sherlock swooped from the office, shouting behind his shoulder, "8pm sharp!"

 

At the Morgue:

Molly was weighing the brain of a 43 year old cabby when Sherlock arrived looking apologetic, and presented her with a dozen orange roses, her favourite flower. Usually, she perked right up, and all was forgiven. Today, she looked down at her feet, and murmured, "I'm busy, Sher' can we do lunch another day?"

"C'mon, Molls, let me take you to lunch? Please? I was out of line yesterday. I know it's not my business, but you and Lestrade obviously like each other. I love both of you, so much, and it tears me apart to see you both so miserable. I don't understand why you two won't just go out and see if there are sparks and go for it?"

"Sher', I'm not like you. You are so brave, you risked everything to be with John, even if you didn't know for sure how he felt about you. I know you and John are happy now, but it took years! I saw what it did to you every single time he went on a date with one of the nurses from work, when you would bang on my door at 1am in tears that he wasn't home and wasn't answering texts. I remember holding you as your body shook, because you didn't think you could keep living with him, because you knew you were in love with him, but didn't want to ruin the friendship. But you eventually, finally, faced him with it and you got what you wanted, right?"

"But what if he doesn't feel that way about me, Sher'? What then? He's the only one I've ever been in love with. I'm so scared he doesn't want everything with me. I'd rather just be his friend than find out that he doesn't really want me, do you understand, honey?"

"Oh, Molls! I'm so, so sorry, sweetie!" Sherlock wrapped his pathologist in his black coat, letting her cry into his scarf until she started hiccuping.

"Listen, lovie, I'm having Greg over for dinner on Friday, John will be there, too. We will have Chinese take away, play Cluedo, I'll even play by the silly rules, and you two can see what happens?" 

"Maaaybe, I'll think about, okay, Sher'? she snuffled, trying to catch her breath, so she could finish the case. Sherlock perched on a stool, and performed both characters from the Dead Parrot skit til she started laughing so hard her stomach started to hurt.

"C'mon, Molls, please?"  
"Ohhhhhhh, all right, Sher'! Now get out of here so I can get home at a reasonable hour, huh?"


	5. Friday Night Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Best laid plans...some angst and a trip to Bart's.

Everyone assumed that Sherlock couldn't cook or didn't like to cook, quite the opposite was true; he and John just never had the time to plan meals or throw parties due to the crazy schedule they had.

"Hmmmmm, that smells fabulous, love, what is it?"  
"I'm trying out a new risotto, for once, we don't have a case to deal with and plenty of time to stir it, it's white wine, butternut squash, and brie cheese (yes, a reward from that recent cheese heist case they helped solve)"  
A chicken stuffed with lemon and rosemary roasted in the oven, and Sherlock was slicing tomatoes, cucumbers and onions for a simple salad, when Molly knocked on the front door. Sherlock heard Mrs. Hudson greet her and send her up to 221B.

"Hey, Sher' am I early?"  
"Nope, you are right on time, everything is just coming together, if you want to pour yourself some wine?"  
John appeared from the bathroom and gave Molly a huge hug, "Hey Molls, how are you? Any interesting cases today?"  
"Yeah, there was another one of those weird ones, no clear cause of death, no bullet wounds, sign of strangulation, or any outward violence upon the body. But I checked between the toes again, found the tiniest puncture wound and it turned out to be Fugu poisoning, you know those Japanese blowfish?"  
"Good catch, Molly," said John, taking another sip of wine.  
Of course, at that moment, the phone rang, which always spelled trouble. Nothing good comes of the phone ringing at 221B, because anyone who knows the boys knows they prefer to text.

"Sally? Slow down! What? Shit! We'll be there as soon as we can. Ok, thanks, bye!"  
"We need to get to Bart's. Greg is in surgery, for a leg wound. It should be ok, but sometimes..."  
Molly looked at Sherlock, and buried her face in his shirt, "Oh, Sher' what am I going to do if..."  
Sherlock shook his head. "Absolutely not, Molly Hooper. He will be fine, come on, John let's go."  
Sherlock turned off the oven and dumped the ruined risotto, trying to focus on being strong for Molly who was about to collapse, and he clambered down the stairs to hop in the cab with his best friend and fiance that would take them to Greg's bedside.

"Damn, the last words I said to him were said out of frustration, not real anger what if those are the last words, I get to say."....thought Sherlock. He looked over to Molly, who was a slight shade of grey..."If I get to talk to him, I'm going to tell him, I have to." thought the pathologist, nervously tapping her foot. "Aren't we there yet???!" She almost leaped out of the cab when they pulled up to the A & E entrance. 

Sally Donovan was waiting for them, her jeans still covered in Lestrade's blood. "I know you guys are close to him, I'm so sorry I didn't get there faster, he just went after the guy on his own. I would've expected that kind of arse move from you two, but Lestrade is usually more conservative, he waits for back up. I don't know what is going on with him lately. "

So, the three friends waited, drank bad coffee, and waited some more. Eventually, a nurse came out and asked for anyone with Greg Lestrade. Sherlock, Molly and John popped up.  
"How is he?" Molly asked, the only one who managed to get their voice to work.  
"We managed to repair the damage to his leg, but he must have sustained some head trauma as well, because he isn't waking up. We are monitoring him, one of you can stay tonight. The other two should go home and rest. I'm sorry."

Sherlock looked at Molly and knew she needed to be with him. "Molls, take care of him, let him know you are there, sweetie. Call us if you need anything, please. I'm so sorry, honey." They gave her a huge group hug, and Molly went into Greg's room. She really hated hospitals, the smell, the people....Oh god. He looked so helpless, so, so still, not her Greg at all.


	6. Friday night/Saturday morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly sits with Lestrade, and talks to him, telling him silly stories about work, the cats, Sherlock and John. But she won't tell him she loves him until she knows he's really still in there.

Molly pulls the hard plastic chair closer to Lestrade's bedside, reaching out to take his hand, realising this is the very first time she has touched him. In all the time they have known each other, they have never touched each other, and yet, she has never loved another person as much as she loves him.

"Pull yourself together, Molly Hooper, geez!"  
"Hmmmmm, right, okay. It is supposed to help if I talk to you, just feel free to interrupt me if you have heard this story before, ok?"

"...then there was the time when Sher' tried to make a souffle over his bunsen burner! 'For science, Molls!' I spent hours trying to clean Grand Marnier gunk out of his hair, while he sat crosslegged in front of me, watching Holy Grail again for the hundredth time to distract him from having his hair tortured..."

At some point she fell asleep, her head resting on her arms on the side of Lestrade's bed. She woke, stiff and angry, "What the heck were you doing, you idiot? Why didn't you wait for Donovan or call Sher' and John? Why? Please, please, Greg, show me you are in there? I'm so afraid that I won't get to tell you....nope. Nope. Not going there. I'm not having that discussion with you until you wake the fuck up. Do you hear me? I have to get coffee so I can come back in here and yell at you some more. Be right back."

She returns with a large coffee, sweetened within an inch of its life.

"Sher' even cooked last night, smelled lovely too, you arse. He looked so small when they told him that you weren't waking up, you know that look, the puppy dog eyes with an extra dose of angst. Yep, that same one when he gets caught sneaking John's last fairy cake, except he looked scared. Really scared. You are the closest thing to a father he has had since his father died, and even though he has John now, and me, he needs you to be ok. So, please, please wake up, Greg, if not to stop me from rambling, for Sher's sake?"

"Alright, I still have to go to work, corpses aren't going to stop arriving just because you are out of commission, you know? Think about that next time, huh?"

Sherlock was standing at the door listening to Molly be strong, and wanted to hug her, but knew it wouldn't help, so he went back out and knocked on the door.

"Morning, Molls, I remembered you usually work today, thought I'd come sit with him, maybe I can annoy him awake?"

"If anyone can, I'm sure you could, sweetie. I need to go now, but I'll be back." Molly squeezed Greg's fingers wishing she could feel them squeeze back. She was so grateful to Sher' for not touching her right now, she would've collapsed if he hugged her right now. She looked up at her best friend and shook her head. No change at all.


	7. Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's turn to keep vigil

The Consulting Detective tried to get comfortable in the chair they provided, it was ridiculous. "Who are these made for? Hobbits?"

So, instead, Sherlock stood at the window, and wished he still smoked, so that he could take a really deep breath and let it go. He was finding it hard to not panic, like Molly he had no fondness for hospitals, but for different reasons. He almost died in a room too similar to this one. If Lestrade hadn't found him, and helped him get clean and stay that way, he never would have met John.

"Shit, Greg, I'm sorry."

At that, the DI's eyes opened with a start, "Am I dead?"

"Damn it, Lestrade, you scared the crap out of us! No, you aren't dead, why do you ask?"

"First off, you actually swore, then got my given name right, and THEN, you fucking apologized. What else was I to think?"

"Ha, ha. Verrrrry funny, smart arse, let me go get a nurse. I'll be right back."

Sherlock returned with a nurse, then the doctor appeared. Seemed that he had been hit in the head with a blunt instrument before he was stabbed. They warned him to watch for signs of concussion, gave Lestrade a prescription for pain meds, and released him to Sherlock's care.

Molly had just come from the morgue to check up on Lestrade when she noticed someone changing the sheets. She blanched and almost fell over. Somehow she made it to the desk and asked, "uhm, the man who was in there last night??"

"Oh, he just left with a tall, skinny, dark haired bloke," she said. "He woke up about 15 minutes ago and they didn't see any reason for him to take up a bed, so they sent him on his way..."

The pathologist almost passed out. Furious, she checked her phone. The battery had died, she guessed sometime last night, as she didn't have her charger with her as she sat with him. "Now what," she asked herself. "What are you going to do now, Molly?" "Can I borrow your phone, please?"

"Sher,' is he with you? Are you taking him to Baker Street? Good, take care of him, so I can kill him when I get there."


	8. How I Met Your Mother...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg tells his children the story of how he met Molly, and how he really pissed her off once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally swiping the title of an American sitcom which I never watched, but lasted for many seasons, just using it to launch the idea of how Molly and Greg met for the first time.

"How did we meet?" asks Greg, wondering how much to tell his kids, Eliza and Graham, both in their twenties. His kids are well aware of their "Uncle" Sherlock's tendency to overdramatise their collective histories, but in this case, he doesn't have to add drama, there is plenty all on its own.

"Well, your mum was a young pathologist at Bart's, she had replaced the guy who had been there forever. In fact, she started a day early because the old timer dropped dead, and no one could figure out what he died of. So, I was called in out of respect for his years of service, otherwise a DS would have been called in.

"Ms. Hooper?"  
"That's Dr. Hooper, I did earn a doctorate, two, in fact."  
"I apologise profusely, DR. Hooper, DI Lestrade. I was called in to take a look at Dr. Humbug."  
"That isn't very nice to say, even of the dead."  
"No, that was his name, didn't you know who you replaced?"  
"Never met him, in fact I had to end my holidays early because he dropped dead over a 'suspicious suicide.' Totally screwed with the forensics on the guy he dropped dead on, so I couldn't do anything about it. Truly aggravating."  
"Uhm, sorry?"  
"Do you need anything from me, specifically? I wasn't here when it happened, I would have guessed natural causes since he was only 84 according to his ID?"  
"His doctor said he was in great shape for an 84 year old, his girlfriend was 43, and said he was fine the night before when they...ahem..."  
"Check his Viagra consumption? Maybe he took too much last night in order to...uhm....."

"Dad, we do know what Viagra does!" Eliza rolls her eyes.  
"Yeah, but at that point, your mom and I started giggling and I almost choked on the gum I was chewing; I was trying to quit smoking again, and the gum almost killed me instead. Luckily your mom was there to save me."  
"Really!? Are you pulling our legs? That sounds like an Uncle Sher' story to me," laughs Graham.  
"Nope, it's the honest truth. After I recovered, I asked her out for a drink for the first time, and she turned me down for the first, but not the last time."

"How many times did mum turn you down, dad?" Eliza wants all the gory details.  
"Hmmm, let's see, I asked her out every Friday night for eight years, including that first time...416 times, and those were just the times I asked on Friday nights, there were other random requests. I got shot down each and every time until the day I almost lost her forever, without ever having a first date with her...."


	9. How I Met Your Mother, part deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg continues telling his adult children about how he and Molly almost didn't have their first date...

"After asking her so many times to go out for a drink, and being turned down every single bloody time, I was too nervous to go to Sherlock's flat for dinner that night. I wasn't trying to get hurt exactly, but I wasn't paying attention, I didn't wait for backup, or call Sherlock or John, just went in like a moron. Poor Donovan thought I was dead when she showed up a minute after the guy knocked me out and then stabbed me, I guess he thought I might recover and try to chase him. I don't know...anyway, when I wake up, Sherlock is there apologizing, calling me by first name correctly and cursing. I figure I'm dead or in hell, because he rarely curses, unless it's part of a Python routine, never apologizes for anything and he only gets my name right only when it's really bad, or his Mind Palace has gone off line or something."

The kids nod in agreement, Uncle Sher still does that, even now.

"Turns out your mum had stayed with me all night, talking to me until she fell asleep on my hospital bed, she was worried and scared, and she held my hand all night. Sherlock took her place when she had a shift the next day, and when I woke up, took me to Baker Street so they could keep an eye on my head, they didn't know if I'd pass out again.  
Unfortunately, Sherlock's call went directly to your mum's voice mail. There was no charge on her phone and she had no idea that I'd left with him to go to to 221B, so that when she comes up later to check on me, she sees them changing the sheets and almost has a stroke."

"Poor mum," whispers Eliza, knowing how her mum feels about her dad, she can't even imagine.

"To make a long story even longer, Sherlock takes me to their flat, gets me propped up on the couch with a match on the telly, and this Fury, aka your mum, enters the flat, looking like bloody murder."


	10. First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly shows up at 221B in her normal crazy jumper, lab coat, trousers one size too long and disheveled hair. Lestrade is already feeling no pain from the pain meds.....did I mention that Molly is furious and relieved and completely in love with a certain DI?

"How dare you?!!"  
"You moron! Donovan said you didn't wait for back up? What the ever-loving fuck, Lestrade?" screams the normally level-headed pathologist who would be inches from Greg's face if Sherlock wasn't using all his strength to hold her back.  
"Oh, heeeeeeeey, Molls, why aren't you at work? Yerrrrr shift isn't over for like 2 more hours? Whoa, you look pissed, what did Sher' do now? You are adorrrrable when you are really angry...."

"Molls, back off, sweetie," whispered Sherlock. "He's on some pretty heavy duty meds for his leg, and he's still fuzzy from getting knocked out." 

"Molly, let me get you a drink," says John. "I bet you are hungry and could use a shower too, huh? Oh, Molls, breathe with me, you can do it, breathe in, one, two, breathe out one, two, three, four. Breathe in one, two, out, one two three four....good, it's ok, he's ok."

"Oh, John, when I saw his bed was empty, I just about fell over. I was so scared, and then I got angry, so fucking angry, at him, and then at myself, and then him again....you're right, I think I'll take that shower, and then have a drink. Thank you guys, sorry for putting you all through this for so long. I know it's my fault..." Molly leaves the room, exhausted and teary.

Sherlock goes to follow her, John stops him,"Let her be, she needs time to process, and she didn't really sleep last night."

Half an hour later, Molly comes out of the loo, wearing a spare set of pajamas that she keeps at the flat for those times when Sherlock needs to have a Monty Python marathon, on those nights when the Mind Palace is in disarray, and needs her to help him focus in order to solve a case.

"What's your poison, Molly? Beer, wine, or we have a brilliant bottle of scotch from Mycroft when he lost that bet last month..."

"Scotch, neat, please, John." She downs it, and asks for another, this time sipping it slowly. Finally, she feels her body calm enough, and she finally admits, to someone other than Sherlock, "I love him." and she promptly falls asleep, curled in Sherlock's chair.

Sherlock covers her with a duvet, then sits with Lestrade on the couch. Greg's feet propped up in his lap, Sherlock takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly, relieved that things may finally work themselves out. Even he, the man who never sleeps, eventually nods off, from sheer exhaustion. John returns to the lounge, about to announce that dinner is ready, takes in the scene and sighs; he checks Greg's vitals, covers his love with a blanket, then settles in his chair with a beer and an old episode of Dr. Who.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The kiss is coming....promise!


	11. Sherlock and John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bit more Johnlock? why not?

Sherlock wakes up on the couch with a terrible crick in his neck, sees that Lestrade and Molly are still out cold, checks Greg's breathing, and goes off in search of his lover.

He finds him stretched out on their bed, obviously enjoying being able to stretch out completely for a change, as Sherlock is usually either wrapped around John, or splayed out using more than his fair share of the king sized bed. The detective stands in front of the bed, just recording the sight of his partner for later viewing in his Mind Palace; his sun, his moon, his universe, is completely naked, and his cock is at attention, waiting for him.

Sherlock undresses quietly, then crawls up onto the bed, kissing softly as he goes, not wanting to startle John.

"Hmmmmmmmmmm? Oh you awake? How's Greg?"  
"He's fine, still breathing, as far as I can tell Molls hasn't tried to kill him again."  
"Oh man, she was so pissed at him!"

"What are you in the mood for this morning, my love, lips, tongue, fingers...."

"mmmmmmmmm, tongue, definitely, my sweet....unggghghhhhhhhhhhh"

Sherlock starts in his navel, swirling until he sees stars, then works his way up to John's chest, bit by bit, til John is gently humming...

"mmmmmmmmmmohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhyeaahhhhhhh....."  
"pleeaease touch me, love..."

Sherlock reaches down with his exquisite fingers, gently dancing them through the precum that was gathering at John's tip, and lovingly takes John to the edge...  
"Tell me, love."

"I neeeeeed you inside, nowwww, pleeeease?"

"Since you asked so nicely, of course, my Captain.." Sherlock reaches under the pillow for the lube, prepares his lover, then lubes himself up, and enters the best place on earth or in the heavens..."Oh, Johhhhhhhn, I'm not going to last long, I'm soooorrr...." a sob escapes from Sherlock, finally releasing all the tension that he had held in his body over the last few days. 

"Oh, love." John rearranges them, so he can hold Sherlock, feels him shaking as he works through almost losing his mentor and friend last night, taking care of his best friend, who finally, finally has confessed her feelings for the DI, and reliving the hard years when he resisted telling John of his feelings...in short, his Mind Palace was closed for repairs.

"I'm so sorry, Sherlock, for not realising sooner. So, sorry my love."


	12. First Kiss(es), part: 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here we go...

Molly slowly wakes up, realizing there is mid-morning light flooding the lounge of 221B. "Damn." She struggles to uncurl herself out of Sherlock's chair, stands up, stretches not unlike her four cats at home, and sees Lestrade sleeping on the couch, snoring softly, his tshirt rucked up, showing a nicely turned out set of abs.

"Ohmy," she moans to herself.  
"Molly?" Lestrade groans out, trying to sit up, and failing miserably. "I'm so sorry, I was a complete tosser, and I'm..."  
"Yes. Yes, you were. I've decided to forgive you just this once, do you hear me, Gregory?"  
"You do?"  
"Yes."  
"Why, why do you care what happens to me?"

Stunned, Molly walks over to the couch, kneels in front of him, gently takes his face in both hands and kisses him sweetly, softly opening his lips with her tongue, tasting the love of her life for the first time, and whispers, "Because I love you, you berk. I have always loved you since the first minute I laid my eyes on you. I made lots of excuses not to tell you, but when I saw you in hospital, so still, so quiet, I knew that I was kidding myself. I'm just sorry I wasted all this time simply because I was afraid."  
"Afraid? Of what? Of me?"  
"Afraid that I could lose you on a case, afraid you didn't feel the same, afraid of losing our friendship if you didn't want me the way I want you."  
"How do you want me, Dr. Hooper?"  
"In every possible way, on every possible surface, DI Lestrade."  
"Oh god, Molly." Lestrade groaned, feeling his body react in ways it hasn't in years. "Molly, please, please tell me you are real, not a side effect from the damn drugs?"  
"I'm real, Greg, I promise." Molly again bends over her man, gently but persuasively opens his mouth and snogs him to the point of ridiculousness.  
"Mollllllly." Lestrade struggles to sit up, and is reminded why he took the pain meds last night. "Oh holy shit. That hurts."  
"Sorry, sweet, let me get you your next dose." She returns with a glass of water and a couple of pills, helps him sit up, and takes the glass when he's done.  
"I love you, Molly Hooper, more than I can possibly ever say to you. I hope you can believe me?"  
"Tell you what, I'm going to Speedy's to get coffees for everyone, and then you can get started, ok?"  
She kisses him one more time, and bounds down the stairs, humming to herself, something about Spam. "Spam?" she mutters. "Damn, Sher's Mind Palace has sprung a leak again..."


	13. Sherlock's Mind Palace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's Monty Python collection has flooded his Mind Palace, and it is going to take the saintly patience of Molly and John to help him rebuild. This may take a couple of chapters, as they have to decide how to tackle this monumental undertaking.
> 
> Yes, we have a couple chapters of Monty Python/Sherlock crack coming up. You didn't know you needed it, did you? You're welcome.

Most days, Sherlock has excellent control of the rooms of his Mind Palace, everything safely stowed away, until he needs something. He knows exactly where everything is, each item, each squirt of perfume, sample of ash and atom has its place. Usually he can retrieve items in microseconds, closing and opening documents at will...

However, ever since he and John have become a couple, which at this point in our story is about a measly 6 months,(John can be depressingly obtuse about some things, after all); once in a while, the, uhm, enormous aquarium (don't ask) which houses his entire collection of Monty Python skits, songs, movie clips, unauthorised biographies of the members of the Circus(you get the idea), springs a leak, and it's not a tiny trickle. Nooooo, its a gushing tidal wave of all things Python, causing a systematic, abrupt shut down of everything but vital systems in Sherlock's celebrated Mind Palace. Sherlock has never been known to do anything by half, especially when it comes to his beloved Monty Python collection.

Usually the cause of the flood has something to do with John, either he has made him orgasm in a spectacularly unique and charming way, inadvertently rotated his sock index, or disturbed that experiment he had been working on for over a year..."Sherlock, how was I to know not to move the slime moulds from the window sill? You really need to put a post-it-note on things, ya know?"

This time, however, it was the general assault of 'sentiment' that opened the gates up. This morning, as Molly was telling Lestrade how much she adored the ground he stepped upon, all the emotions he had been dealing with,(or not dealing with) crashed over the makeshift dam he had been trying to build. 

The sandbags were simply not strong enough. And this time, the devastation was complete, not a shred of Monty Python remained, not even a single bite of cheese. 

In the past Molly had tried to encourage Sherlock to get rid of a few things. For example, was "A Fish Called Wanda" technically Monty Python? Sherlock had argued that it was. He insisted that because John Cleese and Michael Palin were in it, it counted. Molly wasn't so sure about that, but she let it slide. This time though, they had to face it, Sherlock was a hoarder. She was hoping this time he would let her thin out the collection a bit.

John came running out of their bedroom, as Molly was bolting back up the stairs with coffee. "Mollllllly!"  
"I know, John, I'm so sorry, I should've known this would happen. He was due."  
Molly took the coffees intended for herself and Sherlock and barricaded herself in his bedroom.  
"Honey, I'm here."  
"Molly?"  
"Yes, sweetie."  
"You did tell him, right?"  
"Yes, Sher', he knows. Everything is okay now."  
"Good, I'm glad."  
"Get some rest, Sher' and we can start rebuilding when you are ready. I'm not going anywhere."  
Molly sat in the bed with Sherlock's head on her lap, and she slowly caressed his curls, not pulling or teasing, just barely a feather touch was all it took, to allow him to fall back into a deep sleep. She sat drinking her coffee, and waited.


	14. Mind Palace cont.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rebuilding Sherlock's Mind Palace is much like rebuilding a hard drive after the data has been wiped clean, or playing a game of jenga, trying to stack a tower of blocks without it crashing...mostly, Molly and John have to keep the Consulting Detective calm so they can help reboot all the systems and hope for the best.

"How is he, Molly?" John whispers from the doorway.  
"Sleeping, but shaky, can you come hold him for a bit?"  
"Of course," he quietly moves onto their bed, sitting up against the headboard and cradles his lover's head in his lap. He knew all the sentiment was getting too much for him, but he was making up for lost time. It was simply too much too soon.  
"John?"  
"Yes, love? I'm here, you don't have to do anything but be still and let us help you."  
"I love you, John, more than locked room murders."  
"I know, my sweet, just hold on."

"Hmmm, I think last time, it helped to play a CD of the skits?" Molly thought aloud, thinking furiously.  
John said absentmindedly, "I know sometimes he plays them on YouTube?"  
"Perfect, John! I'll get your laptop, and you can put headphones on him, so you don't have to listen?"  
"No, Molly, it's all fine, it may help more if I learn them too?"  
"You really do love him, don't you, John?!"  
"Did you ever doubt it? No, don't answer that, I can see that you did and still do."  
"I...shit, John, he has loved you for sooooo long, it was so hard to watch. I tried not to resent you, since he hid it so well, but everyone else could tell. It was killing him...and then the night when he finally tells you, and he realizes that you had similar feelings, the joy in his voice when he called me...yeah, Mr. 'I prefer to text' called me to tell me that you felt the same way. I sat down with my cats and cried for him.  
"Moll...l..."  
"No, don't. Just know if you break his heart..."  
"I swear. Go check on Lestrade, will you?"  
"Alright, just call if you need help?"  
"Will do... Molly, I am sorry."  
"I know, John. I'm one to talk, huh? Pot, meet kettle?"  
She leaves the room, returning with his laptop and a plate of sandwiches and a beer.  
"Going to be a while...."  
"I know. He can do this, Molly, he has to."

"Ok, sweetie, 'Cheese Shop' to start?"  
Sherlock nods, a tiny smile briefly dances across his face, his hand grips John's thigh a little tighter, as it starts...of course there is an ad, isn't there always? He can delete it later.

SCOUT: Good Morning.  
OWNER: Good morning, Sir. Welcome to the National Cheese Emporium!  
SCOUT: Ah, thank you, my good man.  
OWNER: What can I do for you, Sir?  
SCOUT: Well, I was, uh, sitting in the public library on Thurmon Street just now, skimming through "Scouting For Boys" by Robert Stephenson Smythe Baden-Powell, and I suddenly came over all peckish.  
OWNER: Peckish, sir?  
SCOUT: Esuriant.  
OWNER: Eh?  
SCOUT: 'Ee, Ah wor 'ungry-loike!  
OWNER: Ah, hungry!  
SCOUT: In a nutshell. And I thought to myself, "a little fermented curd will do the trick," so, I curtailed my Scouting activites, sallied forth, and infiltrated your place of purveyance to negotiate the vending of some cheesy comestibles!  
OWNER: Come again?  
SCOUT: I want to buy some cheese.  
OWNER: Oh, I thought you were complaining about the bazouki player!  
SCOUT: Oh, heaven forbid: I am one who delights in all manifestations of the Terpsichorean muse!  
OWNER: Sorry?  
SCOUT: 'Ooo, Ah lahk a nice tuune, 'yer forced too!  
OWNER: So he can go on playing, can he?  
SCOUT: Most certainly! Now then, some cheese please, my good man.... 

By the end of the skit, John is laughing so hard he's crying, he had never seen the whole sketch before. In his arms, Sherlock grins, enjoying feeling the rumbling of John's chest under him, as he falls into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the full script of the "Cheese Shop sketch"  
> http://www.cs.rutgers.edu/~mdstone/class/440-fall-99/cheeseshop.html
> 
> and the sketch on YouTube:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vJhq9eq_eJg


	15. More Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> back to Molly and Greg....

When Molly returns to the lounge, she finds that Greg has fallen asleep. She sits down cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch, with her back leaning against the coffee table. Her hands are too shaky to hold her coffee, so she puts it down, willing herself to calm her nerves, as she watches her love sleep. She has to remind herself he is resting and will wake up on his own.

Eventually, she falls asleep herself, only to jolt awake moments later.

"Molly?" Greg whispers.  
"Yes, Greg? Do you need something?"  
"Not really, just wondered how Sherlock is doing?"  
"John is watching Monty Python with him on YouTube, we hope that if John can learn the sketches too, it may help."  
"He does love Sherlock, you know. You should see how he looks at him at crime scenes when he thinks no one is look-yeah, the uhm look you are giving me right now...oh, Molly, why did we waste so much bloody time?  
"Maybe we weren't really ready until now? I knew I loved you, but it took you getting hurt that I realized the biggest regret I would ever have would be that I hadn't told you how much you meant, if you had..."  
"Shhhhh, Molly, it will take more than an arse with a brick and a switch knife to take me out....oh sweetie, don't cry, please?"

Tentatively, he reaches out to her, and barely brushes her hair, "Scootch closer, please? I really need to kiss you, right this minute, Dr. Hooper."  
"Yes, yes, oh, please?"  
Inelegantly, she moves closer to the couch, when she is close enough, Lestrade wraps his hand in her hair, which has fallen out of the elastic she always wears. It is tangled and a bit wild, but he doesn't care.  
"I've wanted to kiss you forever, and now, I'm scared to..."  
Molly puts her hand in his hair, gently brings his face forward and surrenders to him once and for all. Greg is reminded of a line from the Princess Bride, a movie he secretly adores, but doesn't share that tidbit with many people..“Since the invention of the kiss, there have only been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind.”  
After a moment or two or maybe six? Greg's vision clears to see Molly tracing his lips with her finger, and its all he can do not to breakdown completely.  
"Molly? Uhm, can you help walk me to the bathroom? I know, really sweeping you off your feet, huh?"  
Molly truly smiles for the first time that week, and though he thought he had seen her smile before, he realises he hadn't, not really. Her smile reaches into her eyes, making them luminous, they become amber in the light, and he is done. He can't even...  
"Ok, love, let's see if we can get you standing?"


	16. Spam, spam, spam, wonderful spam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock have watched hours and hours of Monty Python and have saved the best for last...and Sherlock tells John why he has the definitive collection of all things Python in his Mind Palace.

Vikings:  
(singing) Spam, spam, spam, spam ...  
Mr. Bun:  
... baked beans, spam, spam and spam.  
Waitress:  
Baked beans are off.  
Mr. Bun:  
Well can I have spam instead?  
Waitress:  
You mean spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam?  
Vikings:  
(still singing) Spam, spam, spam, spam ... (etc.)  
Mr. Bun:  
Yes.  
Waitress:  
Arrggh!  
Vikings:  
... lovely spam, wonderful spam.  
Waitress:  
Shut up! Shut up!  
(The Vikings shut up momentarily. Enter the Hungarian.)

Hungarian:  
Great boobies honeybun, my lower intestine is full of spam, egg, spam, bacon, spam, tomato, spam ...  
Vikings:  
(Singing) Spam, spam, spam, spam ...  
(A policeman rushes in and bundles the Hungarian out.)

Hungarian:  
(As he leaves) My nipples explode ...  
(Cut to an historian) Caption, super. "A HISTORIAN"

Historian:  
Another great Viking victory was at the Green Midget café at Bromley. Once again the Viking strategy was the same. They sailed from these fiords here, (indicating map with arrows on it) assembled at Trondheim and waited for the strong north-easterly winds to blow their oaken galleys to England whence they sailed on May 23rd. Once in Bromley they assembled at the Green Midget café and spam selecting a spam particular spam item from the spam menu would spam, spam, spam, spam, spam ...  
Vikings:  
(singing) Spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, lovely spam, wonderful spam. Lovely spam, wonderful spam ...

John and Sherlock are howling, even after approximately 18+ hours of straight Monty Python sketches. John has texted Molly asking for beer a couple more times, so he feels no pain. Sherlock seems to be back in control of his Mind Palace, having passed simple tests with flying colours, except Lestrade's first name.

"I think you are cured, you arse," snickers John, pressing a kiss to Sherlock's nose. "Why Monty Python in the first place, love?"  
Sherlock stops, thinking whether he wants to go there or not, but he wants John to know.  
"My father. He loved the Flying Circus, knew every sketch, had his own funny walk, even had a parrot stuffed for his study. He and I would watch it together, he would let me stay up late, we would eat biscuits and watch the show. Then when I was 8, he got sick, he was sick for a long time. I would crawl into his bed next to him, and watch it with him, he would fall asleep halfway through, and near the end, I would just perform the sketches for him. He was the only Holmes ever with a sense of humour, and that was his gift to me."

"Oh, love," sighed John. "Can I kiss you?"  
"Obviously." Sherlock smirked at his blogger, "I'm not broken, do your worst."  
Carefully, John took his Consulting Detective to the edge several times before finally using his tongue to bring him to the most blinding orgasm of Sherlock's brief but adventurous sexual history.

"Johnnnnnnn," slurrred his love.  
"Yes, my heart."  
"I think we need to start planning our wedding before we get too much older."  
"Swans or Sydney Opera House?"  
"Swans, John."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full script of Spam Sketch:  
> http://www.epicure.me.uk/spamsketch.html
> 
> YouTube video:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=anwy2MPT5RE
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Swan
> 
> If only Mary had chosen the swans instead of the Sydney Opera House. FYI, neither Mary nor Moriarty exist in this universe.


	17. When Sherlock finally told John...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finally told Sherlock.

We have told the story so far of Molly finally admitting her feelings for Lestrade and all the drama/trauma that accompanied it.

Let's take the story back about six months, when Sherlock has been pining for John for approximately 4 years, 3 months 2 days 1 hour and 5 minutes, but he wasn't counting, nope, not the self-proclaimed sociopath, who in fact was happily married to 'The Work.'  
Full Stop. He had a best friend, Molly; he had a DI who gave him work, and a blogger who trailed after him on cases, called him 'brilliant' and made him tea. What else could he want?

John. He wanted John in every way possible.

Six months after he informed John of his marriage to said work, he knew he had blown it. Yes, John had implied he wasn't gay, but that didn't rule out bisexuality. Dumb, dumb, dumb, Sherlock muttered to himself. But, he was afraid, afraid of losing the tea-making, the late night attempts at Clue-do. The little moments of almost intimacy that were almost enough.

Everyone at the Yard and their cousins believed they were already a couple. Mrs. Hudson bragged about them to Mrs. Turner. The papers were all asking 'When will the detective and his blogger tie the knot?' John had stopped complaining about the articles recently, and he hadn't dated anyone recently, at least he hadn't brought anyone home, any way.

Sherlock stopped by the morgue and told Molly:  
"I'm going to tell him tonight at Angelo's. I'm going to do it."  
Molly dropped the scalpel she was using and looked at him,  
"Why now? What is different about today, sweetie?"  
"This," as Sherlock pulled out a blue velvet box, it matched his scarf dead on.  
"Oh, Sherlock," Molly breathed, "Are you sure? I don't want you to get hurt..."  
"Molls, it's been over 4 years since I've known. I've seen you suffer about Lestrade for longer. Well, I'm done. I need to know. Yes or no, I need to know."

So, Sherlock made a reservation for their table, and asked for a candle. Angelo asked, "Are you sure, Sherlock?"  
"Yes."  
Accordingly, Sherlock and his blogger appeared at Angelo's at 8 sharp. Nothing seemed different on the surface, but beneath, both men were nervous messes. Both had little blue velvet boxes, both afraid they were making a terrible mistake, but had decided enough was enough.  
"John/Sher..."  
"You first..."  
"No, you, please."  
"Ok, uhm, John, you may remember that a few years ago, when we first met, that I may have implied that I was married to my work..."  
"Yesss?"  
"Well, you see, I believe, I may have erred. I seem to have uhm, lost my heart somewhere, and I need to retrieve it.."  
"Yesss?"  
At this point, Sherlock got up from the table, knelt down in front of his blogger, and on one knee, asked him for his hand in marriage.  
John was silent for so long, that Sherlock almost started to walk home. Then John started laughing, not a small giggle or snicker, but a belly shaking roar.  
"I was going to ask you the same thing tonight, see?"  
They both pulled out their box, each one containing a platinum ring, Sherlock had asked the jeweler to engrave 'Could be dangerous.'  
John had purchased the identical ring, and asked for the words, 'Oh God, Yes.' to be engraved on the ring he slipped onto a speechless consulting detective's finger.

While John was at Tesco, picking up milk on their way home, Sherlock called his best friend to tell her the news:  
"Molls, you won't believe it, but we proposed to each other tonight! Yes! No, I'm not joking! I have a ring and everything! I'll pop by and show you tomorrow! I gotta go, love you, sweetie."

If you could have looked into Molly's kitchen, you would have found the pathologist holding a spoon of Chocolate chocolate chip ice cream, the pint on the floor, and said pathologist sitting under a pile of cats, as she cried with tears of relief, happiness, and a teeny tiny smidge of jealousy for her best friend in the world. He had finally got his man. It would take her a little while longer.


	18. John and Sherlock's first kiss(es)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since Lestrade is temporarily out of commission, shall we see what was recorded in Sher's Mind Palace the night they both asked for the other's hand in marriage:

The boys run up the stairs at 221B, put the milk into the 'non-experiment' fridge and collapse onto the couch.

They are now engaged to be married, they are both wearing each other's rings, basically promising to be together forever. But, they have never even kissed yet. John doesn't know if Sherlock has kissed or been kissed by anyone ever. The answer is, a resounding "nope." The slate is clean. There is no known data.

"So, hmmm, Sherlock, have you ever uhm..."  
"Nope."  
"Nothing?"  
"Correct."  
"So, I, we, you, uhm will be your first time."  
"Obviously."  
"Well, we should..if you want..take off your socks and shoes? and coat first?"  
"Yes. Right. Good idea, excellent."

Socks, shoes and coats are removed. Sherlock's suit jacket is thrown on the back of his chair, John's jumper, sweetly enough the same one he wore when they first met, ends up under the couch. They are now barefoot in trousers and shirts. As much as this may sound like rather amateurish strip poker, John is rather turned on by the process, and it seems to be calming Sherlock down enough so that he is relaxed and smiling a bit.

"Ok, John, what next?"  
"We could start out here, or go to the bedroom. It really depends what you want to do tonight."  
"Hmm, perhaps we could try kissing?"  
"Right, kissing. Good place to start. So let's just stay here for a bit, yeah?  
"Good."

They are sitting side by side, kind of an awkward position for snogging. So, John makes a bold move, he gently takes Sherlock's hand as he stands, pulling the detective to his feet. He then turns, facing his love, and gently presses his mouth to Sherlock's lips. No tongue as yet.

"Oh!" squeaks the detective. "May I try, please?"  
"Of course, my love. Please do."

Sherlock carefully places his hands on John's strong jawline, and snogs him brilliantly, no teeth, not sloppy, just perfection. John feels this first kiss down into his toes, his fingers, his hair follicles and he is immediately harder than he has ever been in his entire life.

"Damnnnnnnnn, Sherlock."  
"Was that okay?"  
"Uhh, yeah. It was really uhm, good. How would you feel about moving this to the bedroom?"


	19. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg stays with the boys at Baker Street while he recovers...

The boys, which now included Lestrade among their number as he recovered from the bashing and stabbing, were in the lounge, rewatching 'A Fish Called Wanda' when Molly arrived to bring dinner and beer...

"Of course it counts as part of the Flying Circus," Sherlock argued. "John Cleese and Michael Palin were in it, and Cleese was co-writer and director, though uncredited."

"Mate, that doesn't fly," countered Lestrade. "First off, there are bloody Americans in it! And don't bring up Gilliam, yes, he was there til his twenties, but he renounced his citizenship in 2006!"

"C'mon Lestrade, the running joke about Palin almost killing the dogs? That's definitely a Circus sketch....oh hey, Molls, we were just..."

"I know, Sher', we will agree to disagree on 'Wanda', just watch what you are putting in that brain of yours, yeah? Ok, boys, off the couch, I need to kiss my guy."

John and Sherlock nodded, grabbed the bag of Thai food and went into the kitchen while Molly greeted Lestrade.

"How was your day, sweet?"  
"Missed you," he mock pouted.  
"Missed you, too, may I?"  
"I suppose...."  
"Berk!" Molly kissed him soundly and he stopped speaking.  
"I can't wait til the leg is healed enough..."  
"I know, I don't want to risk pulling stitches..."  
"What if I let you do all the work?" He pleaded, trying to puppy dog eye her.  
"I'll think about it after dinner. Promise."

After dinner John and Sherlock went to their bedroom to add "Life of Brian" back into Sherlock's Mind Palace, while Molly and Lestrade cuddled on the couch, finishing up "Wanda."

"I do like the movie," began Molly. "I just don't think it's on par wi...."  
She stopped speaking as Lestrade had started unbuttoning her shirt, she was nestled against him, wrapped in his arms, so he had easy access to her buttons.

"Oh, Greg, yespleaseuhhuh...." as he found his way under her camisole, and was gently circling her nipple with his fingers. "You don't know how long I've dreamed of your fingers..."

He moaned, "Please Molly, can we take it into your room? Less chance of injury?" The boys had given Molly the extra bedroom while she stayed to take care of Greg.

"Alright, sweetie. But, you have to swear to tell me if anything starts to hurt?"

He nodded. "Ok, up we go!" Molly helped Lestrade to his feet and they made their way to the bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0095159/
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Terry_Gilliam
> 
> Although I too love 'A Fish Called Wanda', I don't believe it ranks up there with "Holy Grail" or "Life of Brian." I side with Lestrade and Molly on this occasion.


	20. Recovery Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yes.....their first time!

Molly walked Lestrade til they stood next to the bed, "Why don't you sit and I'll help you undress, love?" asked Molly.  
She expected some sassy remark, but he merely sat on the edge of the bed and waited, barely breathing, just watching her.  
"Oh, god," she thought. "This is really going to happen. Breathe Molly, you can do this."  
She undid the buttons on his pajamas and gently pulled them down, careful to avoid his injury as much as possible. She blinked hard when she saw the huge bandage.  
"I'm ok, Molls," he whispered.  
"I know, I know."  
She continued pulling until they came off, then helped him lift the tshirt over his head, though he didn't technically need the assist.   
"Now, you. Let me?"  
"Yes."  
She stood in front of him, her shirt halfway undone already, he continued to unbutton it, his hands under the camisole, barely skimming her surfaces. She could feel every goosebump as he slowly worked the shirt and camisole off of her then unzipped her trousers, and helped her knickers fall from her slim hips to a puddle on the floor.  
"Molls...oh god, I've waited so long to touch you may I, please?"  
"Yes, pleeeease, I need you to. Please?"  
She helped him onto the bed, until he was leaning up against the headboard, wearing nothing but his black boxers. She gently straddled his thighs and moved in for a kiss. He cupped her face with his strong hands and pulled her closer.  
"What do you want, DR. Hooper?"  
"I want everything within reason, for now, DI Lestrade. I want you to thoroughly investigate me."  
"Yes, Guv, will do my best...."


	21. First Time...cont.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "May I, please?"

He nuzzled behind her ear, searching for those places, the ones he had thought about over and over on those long stakeouts, or those long weekends filled with paperwork and Sherlock begging him for cases. He breathed her in, trying to memorize her as she was at that moment. He kissed her throat, feeling her pulse in his lips, making him harder than he had ever thought possible.

"Mollllllls...my god, all this time."  
"I knowwww, I'm so sorry, Greg, I...."  
"It's ok, we are here now, not quite as I planned it, but that's life, isn't it?"  
"May I?"  
"Anything, Molls, I'm yours, love."

She reached one hand into the opening of his boxers, gently seeking and finding. He almost lurched into the air, she gently held him down with her other hand.  
"Shhhhh, let me, sweet, please."  
She carefully removed the last piece of clothing that stood between them, then moved onto her side, so she could explore him from a different angle.  
"You are magnificent, love." She bent over him, cautiously touching her tongue to his already freely leaking tip, and sucked gently. He forced himself not to thrust, as she held him in place. "I have you, please, trust me."

"Ohmmmmmmmmy...." she used one hand to massage his scrotum, as her tongue continued its merciless assault on his throbbing cock.  
"Let go, my sweet man, I'm here. Right here, with you, and you'll find me very hard to get rid of." She grinned as he came between them, kissing him through the most ferociously gentle orgasms that he could ever recall. When he could remember to open his eyes, he looked into her eyes, those eyes he had spent years dreaming about.

"Molls, please?"  


"What do you want, love?"  
"Just hold me?"  
"Of course."

They rearranged themselves, her arms softly encircling him, seeming to protect him from the world, as they fell asleep.


	22. How I Met Your Mother, part trois

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade is continuing his story how he met Molly and how they survived their not quite first date.

"Dad??" Daddddddd!?"  
"Huh, yeah, anyway, she was really, truly pissed off at me, but we made up, and here you two are."  
"The short version, huh, love?"  
Molly and Sherlock had come into their flat while Lestrade had disappeared into his memory of their first time, at least their first kisses. "Of course, Molls." Molly bent down to kiss her husband.  
"Ugh, Mummmmmmm." The kids were still grossed out even at their ages.  
"Enjoy the Monty Python Festival, guys?" Lestrade asked.  
"As always, George." Sherlock winked at the kids.  
"Uncle Sher'," they groaned.  
"Gotta go, have a hot date with my blogger," Sherlock blew a kiss and was out the door.

The kids soon left as well, off on dates, or 'studying' or whatever they called it now.

"Hey, love," whispered Molly. "We could always recreate 'my' first time."  
"Uhmmmm, we could, but you may have to remind me, though, hmmm?"  
"Berk!" Molly claimed his lips like it was the first time, as she always did.  
As always, the pathologist had his number.


	23. Her First Time

Lestrade awoke to find Molly watching him. "Hmmmmm?"  
"You are one of those who fall asleep right after, then?"  
"Not usually, Hooper. It's the meds and uhm, well, it's been a long time since I've had help with..."  
"How long?"  
"Since the divorce. I haven't been interested in anyone else, Molls."  
"Oh. Greg, I am so sorry, truly. I've gone out with other guys and even once in a while stayed over, but then it was easy for me to leave because they weren't you. I was always afraid I wouldn't be enough for you, or we wouldn't 'click'..."

He rolled over on his good side, so he could lean over her and really look at her. "Molls, my sweet, you will always be more than I possibly deserve." he unwrapped her from the sheet that hid her body away from him, and slowly ran his fingers over her hips, between her thighs, asking her to open herself to him without a single word. She threw her head back, eyes closed, biting lightly on an index finger, as he explored, taking his time as no one ever had before. He wanted to know her, every bit of her, each blemish, each childhood scar, everything. Suddenly he stopped. 

"Molls, can I touch you?"  
"Please. I need you."  
"I wish I could...my fingers will have to..."  
"I know, I'm so close already..."  
He could feel how close she truly was as he pushed his fingers inside her, nearly coming again himself. He arranged himself so he could circle an areola with his tongue, then sucking lightly as he plunged his fingers deep within her.

"Greggggg, oh myyyyyyyyyy...!" Molly gripped the sheets, trying to hold on to something to keep her attached to reality. It was only his fingers, only his tongue, but it was Greg, her Greg undoing her. When she returned to planet Earth, she looked into his eyes and said, "Marry me."

"I'd be honoured, Dr. Hooper, but aren't we going a bit fast?" he chuckled.  
"I think we've probably been engaged since the day we met, but no one ever asked," she giggled.

"I adore you, Molly, more than I can possibly ever explain to you in words."  
"I know, my love."


	24. The Wedding Planner

It was to be a simple ceremony where they met, followed by a simple dinner at the first place Sherlock declined to eat with John, due to a case. 

Of course, they met at the morgue; after his discharge, John had found a job as a bicycle messenger, and his very first delivery had been some long awaited results for some case that no one recalls now. Sherlock had been pacing, driving Molly to distraction, when John wheeled his bike in-

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock mumbled at him, absentmindedly.  
"Huh, what?"   
(Of course, anyone who knows anything about the boys from John's blog knows the whole story...to refer back to their meeting, see blog post from 29-1-2010)

And naturally, where else would they hold a reception, Angelo would have been devastated if the boys had chosen any other venue. It was after all, the place where they recently exchanged engagement rings, so it made perfect sense....

Enter Mycroft and Mummy Holmes.

Yes, Mycroft "British Government" Holmes was the elder and rather more annoying brother of Sherlock, known for his extreme dislike of anything remotely related to the Flying Circus, especially any mention of 'silly walks' would throw him into a tizzy. Upon receiving the boys' wedding invitation, he naturally objected to the morgue as an inappropriate venue for a ceremony, and of course Angelo's was equally unacceptable as the restauranteur was a known felon.

Mummy, although thrilled that one of her boys was getting 'hitched,' even to a former Army doctor with a limp turned blogger, also felt the venues were 'highly irregular'(even considering Sherlock's normal escapades) for a family of their 'status.' The Holmes family was one of those old clans that claimed lineage to anyone who had ever made a claim upon the throne, thereby making a morgue and an Italian restaurant run by a housebreaker, quite 'not the thing.'

Sherlock was ready to elope, John's limp and tremor were becoming noticeable, when one BAMF Molly Hooper, soon to be Molly Hooper-Lestrade took over the planning of the wedding. The boys wanted the morgue, Angelo's and swan serviettes, and damn it, they were going to have it all. She informed the Holmeses that if they wished to see the boys get 'hitched,' they would be at the morgue with at the given date and time with smiles on their faces, or they would be very disappointed, indeed. Now, Molly had known the Holmeses for quite a long time, and knew that they really did love Sherlock and cared about his wishes, so they eventually backed down.


	25. The First Blog Entry of John H. Watson

29 January 2010

Nothing usually happens to me, but today, I met an unusual bloke today on my first day as a messenger.

I ended up in the morgue at St. Bart's delivering what to me seemed quite an average looking package, but, it became apparent rather quickly that the material within was not average. 

"Molls!! Molly! I was right! Look!"  
"Of course you were, when are you ever wrong, Sher'?"

A dark curly headed fellow with amazing eyes looked me over and asked, absentmindedly,  
"Afghanistan or Iraq?"  
"Huh? What?"  
"Military bearing, haircut, tanlines, assuming recent military service, so 'Afghanistan or Iraq?' "  
"Afghanistan."  
"Shoulder or leg?"  
"Excuse me...oh, shoulder. You are brilliant, should join a circus as a psychic or something."  
"What? What did you say?"  
"Uhmmm, brilliant? Because you are?"  
"Oh, hmmm, that's not what people normally say."  
"What do people normally say?"  
"Piss off." 

By the time I left the morgue, I had gained a new flatmate and lost a dead end job.


	26. Mawidge is what brings us here...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the boys get hitched

Sherlock paced, of course he did. After all, he was finally, finally marrying John, why wouldn't he pace? He ran his hand through his curls, forgetting that they were actually styled into something other than his usual 'just got out of bed and can't be arsed to care look' and they were now sticking out in every direction.

"Molls!!! Hurry up! We're going to be late!"

"Sher', the ceremony doesn't start for four hours, sweetie, and it can't start without you,"  
Molly peeked out from the kitchen, still in her robe, trying to make coffee, not that Sherlock needed any, but she did. Sherlock had a mad idea that it would be bad luck for them to see each other the day of the ceremony, so decided the best plan would be to sleep apart the night before as well. As a result, Sherlock stayed the night at Molly's, while John crashed at Lestrade's flat. Of course, he was too wired to sleep, couldn't even sit still enough to watch any Monty Python movies. Finally, Molly managed to get him to lie down on the couch, and she was able to coax a couple hours nap from him as she played gently with his hair.

"Sorry, Molls," he smiled sheepishly. "I'm just afraid he's going to change his mind..."  
"Stop it, right now, you! You know he loves you, he is not going to change his mind, right?!"  
"Right, ok, sorry." He finally sat down on the couch, though his knees still vibrated, and his hands wouldn't keep still.  
"Oy, Sher' I understand, sweetie, truly."

 

At Lestrade's flat, John wasn't much better. "This was a mad idea, Greg! Why did I agree to sleep away from him last night?"  
"Uhm, because he was driving you batty, mate?" Lestrade laughed.  
"Oh, yeah, right. I just hope he hasn't driven Molly insane yet."  
"If anyone can help him get through today, it's Molly, she's seen every mood of his, not to worry," Greg smiled, knowing what a mess he'd be the day that he finally got to marry Molly. "Tea?"

 

Finally, at 2 that afternoon, Sherlock and John stood next to each other, holding hands as Mycroft officiated, (the promise of wedding cake afterwards was enough inducement for him to take on the assignment) Molly served as Sherlock's Best Mate, as Greg stood up for John. 

"Sherlock, you had a few words to say to John?"  
"John, I want you to know that from the day we met, you have made me a better person. I've tried to become someone who is good enough to deserve you, but time and time again, you seem to love me as I am, and I will always treasure that. I don't understand it completely, but thank you. I promise to be the best me I can possibly be, and to love you and cherish you always."

"John?"  
"Sherlock, I'm so glad we are finally standing here, and I'm so sorry it took so long. You have honoured me with your patience and love for so many years. I hope you know I am yours, for as long as you will have me. I am here, love..."

Mycroft saw the look in his brother's eyes and decided it was time. "Brother dear, John, you are now married, you may kiss, as ceremony requires."

With tears rolling down his face, Sherlock gently brought John's hand up to his lips, and kissed his love's knuckles. John, equally overcome, turned to his husband, placed his hand on his cheek and kissed him sweetly, and reverently, on the tip of his nose. Luckily, that made the guests laugh; the boys recovered, and started snogging each other in earnest.

"Oy, mates, get a room!" laughed Lestrade. "Don't forget you are in a morgue!"  
The room erupted, and John kissed Sherlock once more without the slightest hint of embarrassment. Sherlock finally took a deep breath for the first time in days, and Molly yelled: "Angelo's everyone!"

The wedding party and their guests all took their time walking to Angelo's and as mentioned in the invite, all had managed to invent their own silly walk. Even Mycroft, though clearly under duress, found his own march and stepped in time with the recently married couple who practically danced their way to the reception.


	27. the honeymoon

The boys had decided not to go away for a honeymoon after their wedding, rather they opted to stay home and turn off all laptops, phones, anything that could connect them to the outside world.

After the reception, they walked up to their flat, and Sherlock quietly shut the door. He turned to John and whispered, "come here, husband, please?" 

"Yes, my love?"  
"I need to touch you, I need to know you are still the same person..."  
John walked over to his husband, took his hand and gently kissed his fingers one by one. "I promise, I am here. Same person you left here yesterday afternoon, and I hope that is the last night we spend apart. Promise me?"  
"I do."  
Sherlock removed John's jacket, and dumped it irreverently in a pile by the door; untied his bow tie, undid the top button that must have been strangling him, and began to unbutton his shirt. John stopped him with a kiss. "We have the rest of our lives, my sweet; bedroom?"  
"I was actually thinking a shower first? " Sherlock grinned, "I need to get this goop out of my hair."

Slowly, they undressed each other, taking their time to see if either of them had changed since they had been married. Sherlock took John's hand and guided him to the shower, never taking his eyes from him. He turned the water on, and stepped in, beckoned his lover to do the same.  
"May I?"  
In the time they had been lovers, Sherlock had never asked to wash his partner, it had seemed too intimate somehow. But now, he wanted, needed to touch John in that way.  
"Please."  
Sherlock stood behind him, thoroughly soaked his hair through and began washing John's newly clipped hair. John leaned back into his hands, and began to almost purr. "Sherlock, my godddd, that feels amazing, love."  
He rinsed John's hair and gently kissed the back of his neck, then worked his way down his back, not missing a single inch, mole or scar. He knelt down, and began washing his lover's well-made thighs. John almost collapsed under the onslaught, but Sherlock caught him.  
"I have you, my love, trust me."  
"I do. Always."


	28. After the Wedding

Since Greg had recovered from the 'brick and switch-knife incident' he and Molly had been seeing each other a lot. They went to movies, the theatre, breakfast, lunch and dinner, and had numerous snogging sessions on their respective couches. But they were both a little skittish; Greg, because he wasn't sure that Molly wasn't with him out of guilt or because of the incident, more than truly wanting to be with him. Molly, because she thought he might be feeling that way.

After the reception, they were the last two at Angelo's, sitting silently in awe of what had just happened that day.  
"Molls?"  
"Greg?"  
"Do you want to come over to my flat?"  
"Yes, please. Should I stop by my flat for my toothbrush?"  
"Best to be prepared, I think."

As they entered his flat, Molly took his hand in both of her smaller ones. "Do you remember, I asked you to marry me?"  
"Yeah, as if I could forget that," he grinned.  
"I meant it, love, I love you, and I don't want to waste anymore time without you. I want to go to sleep with you curled around me, I want to wake with your hands in my hair. I want to be the one who worries when you don't come home when you say you will. I want to have your children and grow old with you..."

"Molls, stop, sweetie. I know. Truly, I know."  
He picked her up and carried her to his bed, taking his time, kissing her softly. He placed her gently on his pillows, undressed, then joined her on the bed.  
"My love, yes, Molls, I will marry you, but I want to make love to you right now, the way I should have years ago."  
"Please."  
He gently undid her hair, relishing the scent of her perfume and shampoo in his fingers. Next, her dangling earrings were removed, then her necklace, and finally he began unbuttoning the bright yellow dress which he had wanted to take off of her all day. Inch by inch, he nuzzled, kissed and devoured this woman who had haunted his life and his dreams for years. He felt her dissolve into the bed, as he slowly worked his way down until the dress was flung from the bed.  
"Love," she whispered.  
"Yes, my sweet Molly, soon, my heart."

He pulled her slip over her head and found himself lost in her small but perfect breasts. She moaned softly as he sucked each nipple, almost bringing them both to orgasm, simply from the sound of her response.

"Not yet, Molls. Not yet, please."  
Quickly he found her silken knickers and slid them down her legs, gently pulling them from her firm calves.  
He found her ready and waiting for him, she pulled him in for a sweet kiss and said, "Now, my love, now."  
"Yes, Molls."  
He lined up and slowly worked his way into her for the first time, almost forgetting to breathe as he entered her fully.  
"Hmmmmmmmmm, oh my god, Molly Hooper," he sobbed as he came.  
"Oh my sweet man..."


	29. The Day After

That night, she stayed awake, afraid to sleep. She simply wrapped herself around the man who laid on her chest, who had sobbed himself to sleep. He was the strongest, best man she had ever known, and at last, he was completely hers. She knew there was no going back, no second thoughts, he had finally forgiven her for the time they had lost, and he had allowed her to forgive herself. There was only forward now.

At some point, she had fallen asleep, because she awoke to the smell of coffee, a cup was sitting on the bedside table next to a single orange rose and a note.

"Love, I'm so sorry, had to go in early, meet me for lunch?" 

She texted him, "Morning, thank you for the coffee and flower, noon?"  
"Yes, the regular place?"  
"Of course."  
"Love you."  
"I know."  
" :P "

She managed to get to the morgue and catch up on some paperwork, tidy her files a bit, and left a bit before noon to meet Lestrade. Their usual lunch place was the park on a bench near the duck pond. He was already there, waiting. She watched him for a moment, wanting to know if he was different today. He was simply sitting, a bag dangling from his fingers, then he slowly raised his face and caught her looking at him. A slow smile spread across his face, lighting up his greyblue eyes with a glow she had never seen before. She felt her heartbeat speed up, wondered if he could hear it from where he sat. She slowed herself down, walked over to him and leaned down to give him a kiss.

"Missed you."  
"Missed you too."  
"Got you your regular."  
"Do you have enough time to have lunch at home? It's a slow day in the morgue, I have someone covering if it gets busy."  
"What did you have in mind, Dr. Hooper?"  
"Hmmmm, I'm sure we can come up with something, DI Lestrade."

She took the bag, and he grabbed her hand, giving the inside of her wrist a gentle kiss. "Hmmm," he hummed. "I do believe you are right, Dr. Hooper."

Lunch was dropped on the kitchen table, soon to be forgotten.

Molly slowly undressed him, wanting to see him in the afternoon light. Once she had him on the bed, she closed her eyes, and simply let his scent overtake her. She kissed him until she ran out of breath, then lowered herself to where she placed her ear on his chest, to feel each thud of his heartbeat.

"Yes, my love, always." He whispered. They laid together, simply touching each other, feeling the other breathe was enough until they fell asleep. Together.


	30. Morning Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this takes place after the HIMYM scenes

John had risen early, made himself some tea, and by some miracle, Sherlock was still sleeping. He rarely had the opportunity to watch his husband sleep, even after twenty + years, it was a moment John had to take advantage of.

He sat in the chair in the bedroom and examined the man who sprawled inelegantly across their bed. After all these years, he was still long and lanky, all edges and angles, nothing soft about him, except for those magnificent lips.

Just thinking about what those lips did to him made him hard.

"God, what you still do to me, and you aren't even awake, love."

The mop of glossy, raven curls, slightly finally turning silver at the edges covered his eyes. How John loved to slightly pull on those curls, wrap his fingers in them, and watch his lover go to pieces at a single gentle tug. Those iridescent eyes that were now closed could take down a fleet of Yard officers with a single glance, the pure arrogance and irony glowered through them. But when he trained his eyes on John, there was nothing but the purest amazement, joy, perhaps; adoration in them. He was always astonished to find that kind of absolute love aimed in his direction.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you, my love?"

"You loved me, John. You stayed when everyone I've ever loved has abandoned me. I pushed and prodded and antagonized to see what I had to do to make you leave me. You never did. And you make tea better than anyone I've ever met."

"Berk"  
"Arse"  
"May I kiss you until you can't breathe?"  
"Is that even a serious question? Why are you even all the way over there?"  
"I wanted to see the Spanish Inquisition at rest."  
"I love you."  
"I love you."


	31. a low key affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Sherlock and John have finally got their friends together, it's time to get them to the church..errr Registry Office on time.

"Molls! You have to come out some time today!"  
"Nope. I'm not moving from the toilet."  
Sherlock grumbled, "Why on earth do they call it morning sickness when it goes on all day?"  
"So we will keep having offspring!" Molly whimpered behind the door.  
"C'mon, sweetie, it's almost time, you know Lestrade will flip out if you are even a minute late..."  
Molly slowly opened the door, a white face peeked out. "I know, maybe some ginger tea would help?" she tried to smile.

"Of course!" He was relieved to at last have something productive to do. It had taken this long to get the two of them together, now he felt completely useless on her wedding day. To continue the 'tradition' that he and John had started, Molly stayed with Sherlock at Baker Street the night before the wedding, while John stayed with Greg, who was having his own issues...

"Oy, mate! Why did you let me drink those shots this morning?"  
"Let you? Right....who stood the entire bar for the last three rounds at 2 AM? Hmmm?"  
"Don't remind me!"  
"C'mon, Greg, you will feel worse if you don't have something in your stomach. I'm making you my hangover cure, though I won't tell you what's in it, you don't want to know. And don't look at it, the colour won't help."  
"Shhhh, don't yell, please." Lestrade slowly opened the door to the loo, looking as green as the concoction John held in his hand.

Eventually, after much nagging, tugging and pushing, Sherlock and John got their respective charges to the Registry Office right on time. They had decided against a church wedding as Greg had been married briefly once before, and Molly was a bit of an agnostic when it came down to it. They just wanted to get it over with, no one wanted to deal with all the craziness that went into planning a wedding of any size, as we all remember the hassle they went through just a few months ago with the boys' nuptials (see Chapters 24 and 26).

Finally, they signed the book, and John and Sherlock escorted the newly married couple to Baker Street where it was decided that they should just crash for a couple days as they were both a bit worse for wear; Molly barely into her second month, and Lestrade still feeling the effects from the Stag Night. So the boys tucked them into the spare room, and took themselves off to the couch to watch The Princess Bride, one of the few movies Sherlock would agree to watch that had not the slightest relationship to Monty Python.


	32. Fifth month

Lestrade texted John:  
"Help."  
"?"  
"Can you meet me for a pint?"  
"Sure."

Sherlock and Molly were busy looking at all things baby. They were planning the nursery, making lists of baby names, discussing nappies, sleep training....

"Love?"  
"Hmmmm?" murmured Molly.  
"I'm meeting John for a pint, do you want me to bring you anything home?"  
"Oooooh, I'm dying for crisps, and those chocolate thingies, you know the ones you found last week?"  
"Yes, sweetie, back in a bit." he kissed the top of her head as she was still arguing the merits of talking to the baby versus playing music to it.  
"It" was actually a girl, name to be argued over shortly. She was still working part time hours at the morgue, but it was getting harder to stand for long periods of time, and the odours that she normally considered as just background noise, were beginning to take their toll.  
"Sher', you would not believe what came in this morning, it nearly brought me to my knees..."  
"Was it that case that they pulled from the Thames that had been missing for two weeks?" He looked up from the catalogue of prams with interest.  
"Yeah, I think I lost breakfast and the lunch I didn't even eat, it was so brown smelling."  
Since she became pregnant, all scents had colours, brown being the absolute worst, pale greens and yellows were peaceful, reds usually meant Lestrade was going to be lovingly mauled when he walked in the door.  
"Oh, Molls, sorry, sweetie."  
"Luckily, I was able get outside and this wave of bluishgreenishpink hit me, so I could finish up."

Lestrade was already into his second pint when John arrived.  
"Slow down, Greg, oy!"  
"Hey, John, I'm ok, just needed to be somewhere babies weren't the center of every conversation. She's only in her fifth month..."  
"It's a phase, soon she will be too tired and grumpy to bother about the details, enjoy the peaceful interlude while it lasts, mate."  
"I know, I love that she is so excited about having kids, it's just when I get home all I want to do is be with her and she is going on about how 'experts say...' and 'what do you think about this colour scheme for the nursery...' or 'should we do a nappy service or just disposables... It's enough to drive me stark ravers. Luckily Sherlock is able to keep up with her."  
"Sherlock is actually already trying to babyproof 221B, I keep telling him she is not due for months yet and it will be months after that when it will matter how clean the floor is. At least he has stopped doing experiments with anything that could be considered slightly noxious, and has binned all of the long term experiments. Tell you what, let me text Sherlock and ask him to meet me at home, and you might have a shot at some non-baby related time with her, yeah?"  
"Thanks, mate, I appreciate it."

Lestrade arrived home bearing crisps of all flavours and three packets of those chocolate thingies that Molly had requested. The baby stuff had been moved out of sight and Molly had put on a match, she loved football as much as he did, and was yelling at the telly as he walked in the door.

"Nooooo!"  
"Molls?"  
"Hey love, terrible call!" She turned it off and grinned sheepishly. "Sher' thought a match might help me get out of 'baby brain' for a while. Come 'ere, you. I've missed you."

"Me too, sweet." He put the bags in the kitchen, then joined her on the couch. He took her hand, and kissed her wrist, then the inside of her elbow, then that spot behind her left ear. "Bed?" he whispered.  
"Bed," she answered.  
He lifted her in his arms, and she giggled, "Not sure how much longer you'll be able to do that."  
"I don't care," he muttered.  
He laid her on the bed and sat down to take off his shoes. She sat behind him, and nuzzled his neck, as she began to undo his shirt, then his tie. He leaned back against her as she continued to unbutton his shirt, finally relaxing after a hard week.

He turned around and knelt on the bed in front of her, lifting the jumper over her head. He was amazed how much her body was changing, "Lie down, love, let me see you." She laid on the pillows, and removed her skirt, leaving her in her knickers. "Oh Molls," he whispered, taking her all in, "you are carrying our baby, our daughter." 

"Yes, love."  
She opened her legs, inviting him to touch her. He placed his nose between her growing breasts and breathed in. "Moll..."  
"I know, my sweet man, please, I need you."  
He stood, finished undressing, then knelt before her, exploring her, no spot went untouched. He gingerly laid a hand on her abdomen, then put his ear to the roundest part.  
"You are beautiful, my love."  
She ran her fingers through his hair. "Make love to me, please?"  
She never had to ask twice.  
As she reached her climax, he was watching her face, and astonished how it never got old, seeing what he did to her. The absolute bliss on her face always made him come with her, "Oh Molls, what did I do to deserve you?"

"You waited for me, my sweet."


	33. Eliza

Sherlock paced back and forth, sat down, picked up the paper, again. He picked up his empty coffee cup, again, looked into it, again and replaced it, again. John sighed. "She will be fine, sweetie. It takes time. Greg is with her, the midwife is with her, she and Eliza will be fine."

"I know that, John. Intellectually, I know that. I just feel helpless, sitting here."  
"I know." John grabbed his husband's hand and kissed it.

 

Two hours earlier...  
"Sher' let's get one more onesie, righhhhhhhht?"  
"Molls?"  
"Oh, Sher', it's time!"  
"Now???!"

They had gone shopping for a few last items, Eliza was taking her sweet time, in fact, at this point she was a couple of days overdue, so they had decided to hit the shops, to get Molly walking and hopefully get things moving before her midwife decided to have her induced as a last resort. Figures it was while they were shopping, as Eliza Jane Hooper-Lestrade would later do anything to get out of doing the shopping. Of course her mum always said it was her Uncle Sher's influence more than anything else, but just as soon as they were checking out, her water broke.

"Oh dammmmmmn, Sher' call Greg, no, call an ambulance then call Greg, please?"  
"On it, sweetie."

The ambulance arrived before Sherlock got Greg on the phone. "Lestrade, meet us at hospital, Molls' water just broke, Eliza is on her way!"  
"Shit! Ok, I'll be there, tell her I love her, yeah?"  
"She knows, Greg."  
He could hear Lestrade grin on the other end. "Thank you, Sherlock, if not for you-"  
"Just get to hospital, fast as you can, right?"  
Sherlock texted his husband:

"Molls in labour, meet us at hospital, Greg already on his way."  
"Will do. Give her a kiss, yeah?"

 

Sherlock jumped up again. "It shouldn't take this long, something is wrong, John."  
"It's her first, Sherlock, sometimes it just takes a little more time, and they thought Eliza was going to be on the bigger side. Just breathe, they will be fine."

At that moment, Lestrade walked out of Molly's room, holding a baby wrapped in a blue and pink striped blanket. He walked over to them, and placed Eliza into Sherlock's large hands. Sherlock gasped, "Oh Greg, she's beautiful!" She already had tiny curls that matched Molly's auburn hair, Lestrade's grey blue eyes, a cute button nose, and a mouth that from day one forward, was rarely without a smile.

From that moment, Eliza Jane Hooper-Lestrade had one Consulting Detective wrapped around her tiny little finger.

"Can I see her, Greg?"  
"Of course, it's about time for her to feed her now anyway, take Eliza to her, please?"  
"Are you sure?"  
"Go, she wants to see you."

Sherlock carried his new niece into the delivery room, and spoke quietly to his friend.

"Molls?" He whispered.  
"Sher'?"  
"How are you, sweetie?"  
"Tired, but okay. What do you think of her?"  
"Oh, Molly, she's gorgeous, just like her mum."  
"Promise me, if anything happens to me, you'll be there for her?"  
"Of course, I will."  
"No, promise me!"  
"Molls. I swear, sweetie. Please, know, I will do anything for her."  
"Thank you, Sher'. Put her down in the cot and help me sit up please?"  
"Of course, Molls."

He laid Eliza gently in her cot, and turned to help his friend adjust her bed. Once sitting up, Molly reached over and hugged her best friend in the world. He started a bit, they rarely hugged, but he knew their relationship had changed, he was now partly responsible for helping to raise this new little person. Molly trusted him with that gift, so he relaxed and kissed the top of her head.

"Thank you, Molls."  
"I should be thanking you, Sher', without you..."  
"I just helped you along, the two of you would have gotten there eventually."  
She grinned an exhausted smile at him.  
"Thank you, anyway, my friend."  
"I'll send Greg in, yeah?"  
"Okay."  
"Get some rest when you can?"  
At that moment, Eliza let out a healthy squawk, letting the world know for the first time that she was hungry, and someone needed to do something about it pronto. So Sherlock gave her back to Molly, then quietly left the room.


	34. Sleepless Nights

The first few weeks were bumpy to say the least. Greg had a few days off from work, but spent more time thinking and emailing about work than really helping with Eliza. Molly was up all hours as Eliza napped at the oddest times, had day mixed up with night, and Molly couldn't remember when she last had a shower or a proper cup of tea.

Sherlock and John had brought over Thai a couple of times, but they were unsure how much help they could offer. Neither had been around children much at all, and babies may have well been aliens. Sherlock loved Eliza from the minute he held her, but was afraid to interfere, until one frantic text from Molly early one morning.

"Sher', can you please come over, I'm just done."

He threw down the journal he was reading and kissed John, who mumbled about milk, left him a note and was down the stairs in a flash. He grabbed a cab, and appeared at Molly and Greg's in less than ten minutes.

"Molls? Sweetie? Where are you?"

"In here, Sher', sorry, I didn't know who else to call. She won't stop crying, Greg was called out again, and I need some tea."

He looked at her, took Eliza from her, and frowned. "Molls. Go get a shower, I'll start tea and we will chat, hmm?"

She looked at him gratefully and kissed him on the cheek. "You're the best, Sher'."  


"I know. Go."

Half an hour later, Eliza was asleep in Sherlock's lap, and Molly was drinking a cup of chamomile tea.

"When did you sleep last, sweetie?" Sherlock asked.

"Uhm, sleep? Hmm, longer than an hour, you mean?"

"Yes."

"Last Wednesday, I think?"

"Unacceptable. How much longer were you going to keep this up?"

"I don't know, tonight was just the last straw. I was actually asleep when Greg's phone rang. He had forgotten to put it on vibrate, so it woke me up, then when he shut the front door, Eliza woke up screaming. It isn't usually this hard, but I didn't think it would be like this. I had no idea."

"You are going to bed, I will stay and watch Eliza. No arguing. Go."

"Sher'-"

"Go."

"Alright, alright, come get me-"

"Now."

Molly grinned tiredly and ruffled his hair, "Don't start with the Spanish Inquisition, eh?"

"Of course not, 'Funniest Joke in the World' is usually a good intro, we'll see how it goes, but only as a last resort. Now go."

Molly slept for eight straight hours. Sherlock had figured out the bottle warming, and Eliza seemed to find his recitation of the Periodic Table soothing, as whenever she started to fuss, he would describe each element, and tell stories about his experiments, naturally putting her to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funniest Joke in the World  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ienp4J3pW7U


	35. Sleepless Nights part 2

Molly woke up to the smell of a proper fry up. She had no idea they even had the ingredients in the house, and wondered who was cooking. She stumbled to the loo, then to the kitchen, to find John cooking breakfast, while Sherlock was asleep on the couch with Eliza tucked safely on his chest.

"Mornin'?" Molly whispered.

"Afternoon." John grinned as he made her a cup of 'real' tea. 

"It smells lovely in here, how-"

"Sherlock texted me and asked me to bring breakfast, and told me you hadn't slept or eaten well in a couple of weeks, so I figured a Full English was required."

"You guys are amazing." Molly breathed in the Earl Grey, she hadn't had tea in days, and realized just how much she missed it. Although she liked her coffee light and sweet, she preferred her tea strong with nothing in it.

"Sit. They just fell asleep. Sherlock seems to have gifts we didn't know about." John nodded at his husband who had his large hands wrapped around Eliza. He looked more peaceful than Molly had ever seen him. "Please call us when you need a break, ok? We are between cases, and you know we will drop anything if you need us."

"I know. I just felt like it was what I was supposed to do, do the mum thing, I just lost track of things."

"Well, just remember we are here, yeah?"

Molly stood up from the table and walked over to where John was frying the sausages. She gave him a kiss on the cheek and a big hug. "I won't forget, I promise."

John and Molly ate their breakfast and washed up as Sherlock and Eliza slept on. They chatted about the cases they were getting from the blog; some were interesting, most were 2s at best, solved mostly by internet searches and common sense. "I swear, there are days when I think Sherlock's eyes may get stuck from how often he rolls his eyes at the problems people have. I think it is mostly people who are just lonely and want to get some attention."

"John," Molly paused, "is there any way you two could watch Eliza if I went back to work? Only part time at first?" 

John didn't have to answer as a gruff voice answered from the depths of the couch, "You know all you have to do is ask. When you asked us to be uncles, she became our family."

His husband nodded in agreement, "You know Mrs. Hudson would be thrilled to have a little one around, just let us know, yeah?"

"I really thought this was what I wanted, staying at home and just raising her should be enough..."

"Stop it, Molls, " Sherlock growled. "You need to do what you need to do for you, it will be better for all of you if you can find a routine that makes life saner for all of you. You are just as important as Eliza and Greg, so, figure out your schedule and we will make it work. Did John feed you up enough?"

"Enough for three, I think," she laughed.


	36. Eliza and Sherlock

Eliza grew up at crime scenes. At first the Yarders gaped at Sherlock as he pushed the pram, asking, "What do you have? What, none of you morons have ever seen a baby before?" 

They adjusted as they did with everything that went with requiring assistance from Baker Street. She became their mascot, and she was missed if Sherlock appeared without her. If John happened to be absent, Sherlock would mumble his deductions to the burbling girl with uncontrollable curls and flashing eyes. She seemed to understand him, and would grin or frown seemingly on cue.

"No? Hmmm. Oh. Of course, yes, you are completely correct."  
A screech of delight made Donovan laugh. "Only you would talk to babies like they understand."  
"Of course she understands, just because she can't talk yet doesn't mean she can't observe."  
"Right."  
Naturally, the case was solved, whether Eliza had actually helped or not was never brought up for discussion. To Sherlock, she was perfect. 

Molly would drop her off at Baker Street three days a week and on those rare nights when she and Lestrade had time for a date night. She was sleeping and eating better again, and though she wished she didn't have to miss so much, she knew it was better for everyone. Work was important to her, she was good at her job, and she knew it. She watched Sherlock's eyes brighten when she walked into the flat carrying Eliza and knew she couldn't have a better caretaker for her daughter. She also knew how important it was for Sherlock that she entrusted her daughter to him, their friendship became stronger as the years went on due to the love that Sherlock had for his niece. Molly had no siblings, and Sherlock was the closest thing she had to a brother. As Eliza grew, Uncle Sher' was the one she would go to when she didn't want to unload 'stuff' on her parents, he had done and seen just about everything, and did not judge, if she had questions about 'life.' He was always honest with her, and expected honesty from her in return. 

"Eliza, shouldn't you be in school?"

"Uncle Sher', uhm, there are kids who keep trying to make me take drugs."

"Have you?"

"Uncle Sher'-"

"No. Have you? Look at me. Eliza Jane, tell me."

"Just once, it was awful. I hated it."

"Good. Do your parents know?"

"Are you kidding? They'd kill me. It was just a little weed."

"No. Stop. It's not just a little anything. Look at me. That's how I started, it took your dad to make me stop. You don't want to know. This is between you and me, if I know you did anything else, you and I will talk to your parents together. Got it?"

"Yeah, I know it was stupid, I just thought it would be fun, since so many of my friends were doing it."

"Next time someone offers you any, text me and I'll come, alright?"

"Yeah, got it."

"Eaten today?"

"Not really."

"Thai or Indian?"

"Thai?"

"Right, and, hmmm, Holy Grail? There are new scenes, want to watch em, or am I not cool enough to hang with anymore?"

"C'mon, Uncle Sher', you will always be cool."


	37. A Request

Seven months into her pregnancy with Eliza, Molly sat up in bed with a start.  
"Greg! Wake up!"  
"Hmmm? Whaaat is it?"  
"What if something happens to us?"  
"Wha-?"  
"Who will take care of Eliza if something happens to us?"  
"I don't know, Molls, can we discuss this later this morning?"  
"Sher'."  
"Really?"  
"Who else?"  
"I know he's our best friend, but do you think he could handle the responsibility? I mean..."  
"He has John now, he has changed so much since you first knew him. You know that."  
"I know. Just don't be disappointed if it's too much for him and he turns us down."

Sherlock awoke to the sound of his phone chirping.

"Dinner, Sher'?"  
"When?"  
"Tonight, 7ish, our flat?  
"We'll be there, Molls, anything we can bring?  
"Just yourselves."

Greg had made his Shepherd's Pie, and John insisted on bringing dessert. Finally, Sherlock looked at his friends and cleared his throat.  


"You want to ask us something, but you don't know what I will say, yes?  


Molly blurted out, "If something happens to us, we want you to be Eliza's guardians. Neither of us have siblings, or close relatives, so we'd love it if you and John would be Eliza's uncles."  


Sherlock blinked once then opened his mouth, then closed it again, then tried again. "You mean, you and Greg want us to be her family?"  


Molly stammered, "We know it's a big favour to ask, you need time to think abou-"  


"No, we'd be honoured, Molly and Greg, it means so much that you would ask us to be part of your family, and to trust us with your daughter," John said quietly. Sherlock nodded next to him, afraid to speak, as he was close to tears.  


"Thank you so much, guys, it means everything to us that you would do this for us." Greg stood and shook John's hand.  


"Sher'? Are you ok?" Molly pushed away from the table and wobbled over to her friend, who was staring at his hands that were nervously lying in his lap.  


He nodded, then shook his head. "I don't know what to say, Molls, this is something so big, so much more important than anything else I've ever done. But, I swear to you and Greg, I won't let you down. I promise."  


Molly looked down at his solemn face, and said, "Come 'ere, Sher', please?"  


He stood, and she hugged him as much as she was able. "Thank you, my friend."


	38. second time around

Eliza was six when she knew something was up.

"Mum?"  
"Yes, Eliza?"  
"Is it a boy or a girl?"  
"Wha--"  
"Are you having a boy or a girl?"

Molly blinked hard, she had been slammed at work, stressed over getting Eliza into a school that would challenge her enough, after being raised by Uncle Sher', it was a struggle...she hadn't noticed that her clothes were getting snug, no morning sickness this time around. 

"Not sure yet, sweetie."  
At that moment Sherlock appeared at the flat, ready to take Eliza to school.  
"Molls?"  
"We'll talk when you get back," she sighed, as she gave Eliza a kiss.

"I'm pregnant..I'm pregnant, again..."  
She kept repeating it to herself, trying to wrap her brain around it. Eliza was brilliant, a lot like Sherlock, but easy going, loved to snuggle and laugh. Molly loved watching them together, peas in a pod. She was amazed how easily Sherlock took to taking care of her, but realized Eliza did the same for him. Even as a baby, she listened to him, smiled as he walked in the room, screeched in joy as he did his funny walks for her...

"Molls? Are you ok?"  
"Eliza asked me if I was having a boy or a girl this morning, Sher'."  
"Huh, what? Why didn't you tell us? That's amazing, Molls!" he picked her up in a huge bear hug.  
"I didn't know," she mumbled.  
"Molls, you will be ok, Eliza will be a brilliant big sister, Greg will be over the moon."  
She looked at him, and his happiness overwhelmed her. She hugged him back, "Thank you, Sher', I know. I'm so lucky to have you in my life. I don't think I tell you enough."  
"I'm the lucky one, sweetie. You and Greg and Eliza are the best family John and I could have ever hoped for. And this new baby will be just as loved, you know that, right? You need to make an appointment and confirm, yeah? I promise, I won't tell anyone, except John?"  
She laughed, "Will you go with me?"  
"Of course, you know all you have to do is ask."


	39. Eliza, age 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the pause, working out where this is going, not sure still, may just keep adding chapters til the four of them are in a retirement home driving the staff batty. ;)

Molly's second pregnancy was easier on everyone, except Eliza. She intellectually knew that her parents didn't love her any less, but she was used to having their most of their attention when they were around.

"Uncle Sher'?"

"Hmmm?" He looked up from the microscope and sighed when he saw the expression on her face. "Come here, Liza Jane."

"Why do they want to have another baby? Why am I not enough?"

"It doesn't have anything to do with you, sweet girl. You are brilliant, and you know they love you to bits. Sometimes-you know we've been through the birds and bees-"

"I know-I just wish-I mean, are you still going to hang out with me still?"

"Of course, I will."

"Just you and me?"

"Liza Jane, I will always have time to be with you, you know that, right?"

"Just checking."

"Do your homework, yeah? Then I'll show you the case I'm working on, maybe you have an idea or two."

"Okay, is it a locked room one? I love those."

"Yep, just do your maths carefully, yeah?"

"Okey-doke. Thanks, Uncle Sher'."

"Anytime, love."


	40. Later that evening

Greg picked up Eliza earlier than usual so the three of them could see the new scan of Graham. Sherlock had stared blankly at Greg when he had told them a few weeks ago that they were having a boy and that they were giving him a 'family' name.

"What's so funny, John?"

"Love, you call Greg Graham all the time-"

"Greg?"

"Lestrade."

"I know-I'm kidding, really, that's a great name, Greg."

 

John got home to find Sherlock absentmindedly stirring the marinara sauce he had been cooking that afternoon between working his case and checking Eliza's maths. Though she probably didn't really need his help anymore, as she was better at the problems than he ever was...

"Long day, love?" John stood behind Sherlock and took the spoon away to taste test the sauce that always turned out perfectly. 

"Hmmm. Oh, John. Had a chat with Liza Jane about Graham, trying to help her through a rough patch. I am beginning to see how Mycroft must have felt to have me dumped in his lap after being the only child for so long. I have a couple of good memories of him playing games with me before it became beneath him to play with a four year old. Supposedly, he also read me bedtime stories, but I don't really remember that, he went away to school when he was eleven, and I recall missing him, but not sure why."

"Turn the sauce off love, and come sit with me?"

They sat on the couch, John sat with Sherlock curled up alongside him, his head buried in John's lap. "I wasn't very kind to him when he would come home. I missed him when he was away, but didn't know how to tell him, and then we both got older and stopped trying, and then..."

"Have you thought about trying to talk to him, maybe have him over for dinner?"

Sherlock sat up with a look of incredulity plastered on his sharp features. "You really think he would come here to 'break bread' with us? I don't know, John."

"Ask him, the worst he will do is laugh and ask who is calling and why are they using your number under false pretenses, yeah?"

"I just wonder if it's too late." Sherlock sighed and got up to finish dinner.

John sat and thought until Sherlock placed a bowl of steaming ziti accompanied by a glass of his favourite lager on the coffee table in front of him. John put his nose into the steam and breathed in deeply. " Mmmmm...some days, I think I married you for your cooking skills." Sherlock threw a pillow at his head, but smirked, managed to eat dinner and then cuddled up with John to watch Holy Grail for the 600th time. Once John felt him relax into his normal dead to the world breathing pattern, he closed his eyes and hoped he was doing the right thing.

 

"Can we have a chat?" - JW

"He hasn't fallen off the proverbial wagon, has he?" - MH

"You know he hasn't." - JW

"Then what could we possibly have to discuss?" - MH

"He was thinking aloud about his childhood tonight-" - JW

"Oh dear Lord, I'm sure he made me out to be-" - MH

"Actually, Mycroft, he was thinking back on his past bad behaviour and I believe wishes things were different between the two of you." - JW

"I will take it under advisement, Dr. Watson." - MH

 

"Bugger. Damn. I think I may have overstepped a bit, love." 

"Hmmmm?"

"Bed, love. Come, we are getting to old to sleep out here."

 

In his library, Mycroft pulled out an old photo from the bottom drawer of his desk; a boy of four years with a mop of dark curls was riding on the shoulders of a grinning eleven year old, tall and well built for his age, in his last days of boyhood. He poured himself a rare double of his favourite single malt and tossed it back.

"Oh, Sherlock. We both made so many mistakes. But, perhaps, it is time we made peace."


	41. Looking backwards

Sherlock paced most of the morning, picked up his violin only to put it down, fiddled with his microscope to no avail. "Damn."

"Afternoon." - SH

"Sherlock." - MH

"I have a mad idea, you can always say no-" - SH

"Day and time, brother, I'll be there, I remember your cooking skills were quite precocious." - MH

"Tomorrow, 7ish?" - SH

"Anything I can bring?" - MH

"Cake and wine? ;)" - SH

"Red or white?" - MH

"I know you have a nice Riesling or two, yeah?" - SH

"Done." - MH

"Thank you, Myc." - SH

"No, thank you, brother." - MH

 

John came home that afternoon to find Sherlock rummaging through boxes. His curls were covered in cobwebs and dust covered his midnight blue shirt and the knees of his bespoke trousers.

"Love, what are you doing?"

"I was trying to find my baby book. Mum gave it to me when Liza Jane was born, to 'remind me that I was once that small.' I'm just trying to remember....Oh, uhm, Mycroft will be joining us for dinner tomorrow...I'd understand if you have other plans-"

"Really? That's great, love. I'll be here if you want me to be, if it would help."

A look of relief washed over his husband's face. "Thank you, I know the two of you don't get along that well, ever since that kidnapping episode..."

"I just wish he was kinder to you, less patronizing. I don't really care what he thinks of me, I just hope he can let go of his Big Brotherness for one night."

"Me too."

"Here, let me help you find that album, I know Liza Jane loved it as a toddler, maybe it's with some of the old toys we put in the attic?"

Eventually, in the last box, they found the album, a little stickier than Sherlock remembered, but mostly unhurt, and after a shower and clean clothes, they sat side by side on the couch and looked through the first four years of Sherlock's life.

Sherlock paused at one photo, of Mycroft and himself building a sand castle. Mycroft had turned for a moment as the photo was taken, squinting and grinning..."as he turned back around, I dumped sand on his head, and he chased me into the waves, but he was laughing, we were actually almost friends then."

"Perhaps you can be again?"

"Maybe so."


	42. Dinner with Mycroft

Sherlock spent the rest of the evening debating what to make for his brother.

"Keep it simple. Nothing with too much cream...Shepherd's Pie? No...roasted chicken...new potatoes...big salad...rolls? It won't take too long to eat if the evening is a disaster...why would it be a disaster..because it's Mycroft and he'll never see me as anything but his druggie little brother. No. I can let him see I'm different. I am. John has made me different...."

"Come to bed, love?"

"Coming."

 

By 6:55, Sherlock was a mass of nerves, the cooking was done, the rosemary rolls were baking, chicken was resting, John was making his vinaigrette for the salad.

"Breathe. Deep breath, love. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere, yeah?"

"Right."

"You can do this, remember he's your brother, not just the British Government."

"Git. Just going to hit the loo one more time. Be nice?" 

"Of course."

"Ah, John...Mrs. Hudson let me in, she said something about the buzzer being 'indisposed?' "

"Don't ask, may I take the wine and cake?"

"Ahem, yes, yes. John. I appreciate your gentle nudge, I'm sure this dinner would not be possible-"

"If he hadn't wanted to try, he wouldn't have contacted you, I just made the suggestion."

"Thank you, nevertheless. I haven't been easy on him."

"No, but I think there is fault on both sides?"

"True. I left my phone and umbrella in the car, I told them I'd take a cab home."

John nods and smiles. "Glass of wine?"

"Please. Rosemary rolls? I haven't had those in years-Sherlock's are just perfection."

"Yes, brother, they still are."

"Is that your baby book?"

"Yeah, Mum thought I needed a reminder of a time when I didn't know it all when I started taking care of Liza Jane."

"She is six, now?"

"Yes, and brilliant, she always finds new ways of looking at things..."

"Wine?"

"Uhm, maybe with dinner, if John is done fussing with his vinaigrette, I believe everything is ready?"

"I'm done 'fussing.' "

John carved the chicken as the brothers set the table and pulled the rolls and potatoes from the oven; salad was tossed and wine glasses filled.

"I had forgotten how good these rolls smelled, Sherlock. I remember visiting home when I was in grad school, I walked into the kitchen and somehow you had become a teenager, in your goth poet stage standing by the oven, flour in your hair and the most amazing aroma-"

"Goth poet stage?" John poked Sherlock in the ribs.

"Yes, well, I think I have a couple of the journals somewhere...more wine, John, please -"

"Never mind, Sherlock, thank you for making them."

Sherlock tries to hide a grin behind his wine glass, but fails. "You're welcome, Myc. I remembered how you ate practically a whole batch that day, you were too thin back then."

Mycroft laughs and John can't help but laugh with him.


End file.
